I Am Rose
by Gizmobunny
Summary: In search of her mother, eight year old Cosette runs away from the Thenardiers' inn and winds up in an entirely different society, where she grows up as a maid to a familiar family. A move to Paris changes her life forever. Cosette/Courfeyrac
1. The Great Escapade

**Yes, I know, I'm back. Finally. And what's this? I'm writing about Cosette? Shocking!**

**But yes, this story is about Cosette, as you can gather. It's kind of like an AU life story, based on her running away from the Thenardiers when she was eight. Now for a few notes:**

**I did in fact jumble some of the ages, especially when it gets to introducing the Amis. I don't like them being so old, and making them all younger makes their friendship with Cosette less perv-y.**

**Cosette is based on a mixture of Eva Ibbotson's characters (Harriet, Anna, and Ruth), as are a few plotlines. Eva Ibbotson is my favorite author by far. And this story is less of a fanfiction and more of a story that I wanted to write, and decided to place these characters in.**

**It is named after a poem by Gertrude Stein. I had to sing the poem once, and it reminded me of Cosette, so I named the story after it.**

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_I Am Rose, By Gertrude Stein_

_I am Rose, my eyes are blue;_

_I am Rose, and who are you?_

_I am Rose, and when I sing,_

_I am Rose, like anything._

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Chapter One: The Great Escapade

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"And when Fleur realized that she had at long last found her mother, she rejoiced. Oh, what a party was thrown at the castle that night! The two embraced, and lived happily together in the castle for years to come. The End."

Cosette smiled to herself as she listened to the sound of Madame Thenardier closing the book and setting it down on the table beside the fireplace. She pulled her bare knees close to her chest and peered out from beneath the writing desk, where she was seated in silent secrecy, hidden away from the eyes of the family gathered on the sofa.

"Well, wasn't that a happy story, _mes anges_?" Madame Thenardier asked, her voice dripping with the adoration she showed to her two daughters. Little blonde Azelma giggled and nodded her head, so that her ribbon-adorned ringlets bounced.

"I liked Fleur's kitty," she said in her high-pitched child's voice as she reached for her own cat, who was attempting to sleep some feet away.

Eponine Thenardier, two years older, stretched out her legs from where she was seated on the floor, and hummed in agreement. "I liked the prince," she declared, a synthesized air of regality in her voice. It was a habit of hers to pretend, in her mind and actions, that she was much older than seven - a year younger than Cosette. Her mother naturally found the act to be charming. It secretly peeved Cosette, as Eponine was finding in each day new ways to torment the unfortunate little "maid".

At that, the unfortunate little maid who was _not_ supposed to be listening to Madame's story! Cosette had completely forgotten, having been wrapped up in the wonderful tale of little Princess Fleur and her quest to find her mother. The happy ending had put such a smile in Cosette's heart.

The little girl had a fascination with mothers, a feature not uncommon in those who do not have a maternal figure. She was enthralled by the saintly women in storybooks, and her eyes followed any mother and child pair in the streets or the markets. It had become a routine for Cosette, in fact, that every night when she climbed beneath the meager blanket on her pallet, she would close her eyes and simply look at the mental image she had of her mother, until she fell asleep and dreamed of her. There were a million questions Cosette longed to ask - what does she look like? What is her name? Where does she live? These questions were only answered by the daydreams which got Cosette in trouble while she was supposed to be washing the kitchen floor.

But listening to Madame's story, Cosette had begun to form another idea.

Cosette's thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a series of shrill noises. The first few cries came from the direction of the bedrooms back behind the parlor, and belonged inevitably to a baby. The next noise was more or less a booming shout, coming from Madame Thenardier.

"Co_sette_?" Her voice made the little girl's ears ring. "Where are you?"

"Here, Madame," Cosette squeaked, scrambling up from her position. No one saw her emerge from beneath the table - thankfully, or there would have been a punishment in store.

"Well, don't just stand there, _Mademoiselle_," Madame Thenardier sneered, her daughters holding similar mocking expressions. "Your baby is crying."

It was a running taunt - ever since Cosette had first shown affection for the little neglected Thenardier boy, he had wholly become her responsibility, day and night. She felt pity for the poor creature. He_had _parents, and yet he knew no care from them. For this reason, Cosette fancied herself a sort of caretaker for the boy. They were in similar positions - they had parents, but were still orphans in a manner or speaking. In contrast, however, Cosette would not even consider the idea that her mother did not want her.

Holding her head low as she passed by the family, Cosette made her way to the back bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she hurried over to the bare bassinet, in which the wailing toddler lay tangled up in the blankets.

"Oh, don't flail!" she was quick to cry, removing the blankets from where they were beginning to smother him. "You'll strangle yourself!" How long had he been lying here, crying, before someone heard him? The thought was tear provoking.

Cosette lifted the boy out of the bed and, with her thin arms straining, held him against her chest. He was not a burden to hold - he was as thin as any child of his age, having been born three weeks premature. Cosette stroked his little head of wispy brown hair, and whispered in his ear.

"Now stop that crying, Gavroche," she ordered. "Madame will not be happy if you keep it up!" In moments, the child had calmed down, his face nestled in Cosette's neck. The two near-orphans made a touching picture of mother and child.

"I wish I didn't have to leave," Cosette whispered furtively, lest someone be listening in. "Oh, but when I find my mother, I will come back for you. I am sure she would be happy to take care of both of us, Gavroche." Cosette lifted up the boy and kissed him on the nose. But as she looked at his damp little eyes, a further step in her plan came into existence.

All at once, a cry from the parlor made Cosette's hair stand on end.

"Co_sette_, you little slut!" It was Monsieur Thenardier, and by the tone in his voice, it was apparent this was not the first time he had called her. Gavroche still in her arms, Cosette hurried to the door and opened it, quietly from habit.

"Yes?" she answered in a small voice. Madame Thenardier had disappeared into the kitchen to prepare supper, and her daughters were playing with the cat, Chocolat, on the hearth rug. Their father, a wiry and red-faced man, stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his clothes and hands dirty from work outside in the stable. He and some neighbor men had been working on the faulty roof, sweating away in the miserable July heat. Cosette winced and came forward.

"There is no water, girl," he barked.

"I will see to it, Monsieur," the girl said hurriedly, silently chastising herself. Of course, Monsieur would want to soak his feet when he came in from working in the hot sun.

"Quickly, now," Monsieur Thenardier growled, rather like a dog.

_This is my chance_, said a little voice in Cosette's head, and she took a deep breath. "I'm taking Gavroche with me," she announced hesitantly. "I think the air would do him good."

"As you wish," drawled the man. "He's as good as yours."

Cosette hurried to the her nook beneath the stairs to slide on her wooden clogs, and as she did so she secretly slipped a few items into her apron pockets - some francs she had snatched from a drunken guest in anticipation of her plan; a little locket she had acquired in a similar manner, which she imagined she could sell; and a canteen of stale water which she had kept by her bed some weeks ago when she had had a cough. These items attained, Cosette scurried once again past the hating eyes of the Thenardiers, and left quickly through the front door.

"Never to return," she whispered dramatically as she headed for the side of the building, where the water bucket sat.

Her plan was simple - she would go into the woods to get the water, and purposely get "lost" (she knew every inch of the woods by heart). Then, once she got to a particularly dark and treacherous part of the forest, where there was a rough drop-off to the more rapid part of the stream that ran through the area, she would climb down and embed the bucket in the shrubbery at the bottom. The drama would play out further when, hopefully, the Thenardiers would come looking for her, wondering what was taking the girl so long. They would find the bucket next to the deep stream, and would assume the worst - the little serving girl had fallen into the water, and subsequently drowned. It was like the plot from a storybook, plotting one's false death and the like.

The summer heat was already making Cosette's feet sweat inside of the wooden clogs, so the murky shade of the forest was a welcome change as she stepped beneath the first welcoming trees.

"Bir!" gurgled Gavroche, motioning with one dimpled finger to a large grey bird roosting in a nearby tree for the night.

"Yes, that _is_ a bird," cooed Cosette, readjusting her grip on the boy.

As she walked, Cosette continued to whisper tender words to the small child, and her mind pondered over the task at hand. Had she been older, reality might have made itself more clear earlier on, but in Cosette's eight-year-old mind, it was a feasible and quite undemanding idea to just hop into a carriage once she got to the road, and then start searching. There were offices in cities where you could find people, weren't there? Couldn't the police do that? So of course, Cosette would not have to do _all_ the searching herself.

It was about half an hour into the walk when Cosette finally heard the sound of water close by. Hurrying along her way, careful not to miscalculate the distance and _actually_ fall off of the ledge, Cosette found her way to the point of descent, and looked down at the stream.

"I won't be long," she said to Gavroche, settling him down safely against the closest tree. He put one hand in his mouth and immediately became preoccupied. Cosette took the bucket and got down on her hands and knees. She moved about until she located the safest way down the ledge, a series of rocks suitable for climbing. It would have been an easier task to simply drop the bucket, but there was too much of a chance that it would end up _in_ the stream. Cosette continued to climb.

Once firmly planted on the small sliver of ground at the bottom of the ledge, some eight or nine feet down from where she had left Gavroche, Cosette dropped the bucket into the tangle of bushes, feeling rather heroic at her effort. Once she was finished, she sat down next to the water, took off her shoes, and gave her aching feet a quick wash. Now the question was, which way to go from here?

Sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she did so, Cosette pondered the possibilities. It had been her intentions to stay on the usual path, the one that headed towards the spring, and then keep going, towards the farthest edge of the woods. But then a scenario played out in her mind: it had taken her longer to get this far than she had expected - what if Monsieur Thenardier caught up with her? Everything would be spoiled!

_So I won't take the path_, Cosette thought resolutely, standing back up. She surveyed the area of woods around the stream, and an idea came to her. _I'll follow the water upstream_. It had to lead_some_where.

It was much harder to climb back up the ledge than it had been to get down, and Cosette had to pause halfway up. She could hear Gavroche saying in his baby voice, "Coseh? Coseh?" In his immature tongue, the "t" noise was not audible. She hoped that he would not wander too close to the edge in search of his caretaker.

"I'm right here, 'Vroche," Cosette said breathlessly as she reached the top. Now came the task of climbing back down with the child in her arms. The eight feet back down looked like a mile. Breathing deeply, Cosette took Gavroche close to her chest and edged herself back to the ledge. She put one foot down to the next rock, and then moved slowly so that she was sitting on it. She continued like this until she was in jumping distance of the ground.

All of the climbing had worn Cosette out decently, and furthermore the now-swift sinking of the sun was alerting Cosette to the amount of time she had been on her feet already. Still, there was much traveling to be done. She hoisted Gavroche up against her shoulder and began walking upstream. It was the direction she had been walking, but being several feet below the path put her out of sight if anyone were to come searching. Cosette felt ingenious.

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Another hour later found the woods to be entirely dark. Gavroche had fallen asleep against Cosette's neck, and presently the girl's feet were beginning to feel as though they would outright fall off of her legs at any moment. Now, she was walking barefoot, having removed her clogs some half-hour back when they had continued to pick up small stones that pressed painfully into her calloused heels.

Cosette hummed to herself, softly so as not to wake up Gavroche. The scenery was becoming gloomier as she kept walking. The trees were closer together, making it harder to see far in front of her, and the stream she was following was now deep and smooth, making less noise as it flowed gently on in the opposite direction. The girl yawned widely. It must have been… nine o' clock? It was impossible to tell. Either way, Cosette felt as though it was time to rest. But where? At any moment Monsieur Thenardier or his wife could show up, wielding lanterns, looking to bring back their escaped servant girl. The thoughts of such a future were chilling.

And so was the prospect of falling asleep out here. There were bigger dangers than the Thenardiers in the woods at night, and Cosette shuddered to think of falling asleep in this murky darkness. She was afraid of no fantastical beast of sorts, but there were bears, and wolves too, eager to prey on two small, defenseless, sleeping children.

In light of this fear, Cosette continued walking. But as she went, her surroundings were beginning to swim before her eyes. The trees ran together, as did her thoughts. She yawned again. She needed rest.

Her movements dreary, Cosette crossed over a narrow part of the stream and looked around for a well-hidden place to rest. It must be off anything resembling a path, she resolved, heading for a thicket up ahead that was sure to be large enough to house an eight-year-old. But as she neared it, something moved on the ground at her feet, and she jumped at least a yard back, her eyes wide. Gavroche was startled awake at the sudden movement, and he uttered a little cry of shock at the darkness around him. When he had fallen asleep, it had still been light enough to see a foot in front of one's face.

Easing her heart to slow down, Cosette took careful steps past the thicket, hoping she would not step on whatever it was she had seen. It had looked like a snake - but do snakes come out in the woods on summer nights? Perhaps near a creek… Cosette did not know, but she thought it better to keep looking.

It was around this point that she saw what appeared to be a fence some feet in front of her. It was large, and even in the dark she could tell it was painted white, for the color reflected what little moonlight made its way down here. The only thing masking the object's identity was a layer of ivy growing up the side of it, making it almost appear to be one sideways, rectangular tree, going on for miles in both directions. Suddenly excited, Cosette darted up to the thing. The planks of the fence were far enough apart so that she could have seen through to the other side were it not for the ivy. So, Cosette used one hand to brush the prickly plant out of her way.

Through the fence, Cosette saw a vast expanse of nearly clear land, at the far end of which was a collection of lit squares that could only belong to the windows of an occupied house. The sudden sighting of civilization brought a smile to Cosette's face after having wandered around in the woods for almost two hours. She did not need a place to stay permanently, but perhaps the people who lived here would let her sleep in their house for the night. In fact, she did not even need to sleep inside. She could ask to stay in the backyard, in the garden that she could see before her. Anything to get a night's sleep where she knew she would not be attacked by any sort of bear or wolf.

But as she looked up at the six feet of whitewashed wood, she was faced with the great difficulty of how to make it inside the yard in the first place. She could climb it, perhaps, but not with Gavroche in her arms. Suddenly, she got an idea and dropped to her feet, placing Gavroche on the ground beside her. She felt where the fence met with the floor of the woods - there were a few open inches. Quickly, Cosette took the soil beneath the fence and began to dig a hole, just large enough to squeeze Gavroche beneath the fence.

"Go on," she urged him, attempting to slip him through the little hole. Once he was safe on the other side, Cosette leaned her head through to look at him and said, "Now stay there, _mon ange_."

Climbing the fence was easier than it had at first seemed to Cosette. The ivy was strong enough to hold the feet of an undernourished eight-year-old, and it served her as a sort of a ladder until she reached the top. But once she got up about five feet, there was no more ivy, and the fence felt slippery and unstable beneath her bare feet. It was time to jump. Cosette looked down at the ground just inside the yard, but it was too dark to see where Gavroche was. Praying she did not land on him, Cosette jumped.

When she hit the ground, her head landed at a severe angle, and she only had time to glance up at the dark sky before she blacked out.

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While unconscious, Cosette dreamt up a scene at the Thenardiers' inn. She dreamt that Madame and Monsieur were sitting about the kitchen, angry looks on their red faces. Eponine and Azelma were seated in the parlor, playing once more with the cat. Madame Thenardier looked at her husband and said with disgust, _"I suppose we'll have to find ourselves a new maid_."

"_Ah, yes,"_ growled her husband. He scratched his beard. "_Shame about the boy. He might have grown up to help her with the chores_."

"_Do you suppose she went to look for her mother?" _In Cosette's dream, Madame's voice was not as loud, and her face was easier to look at.

"_Perhaps,"_ her husband said with a shrug.

"_Well then maybe we should write to the woman; tell her what has happened to her little girl._ _It's only the honest thing to do_."

The idea was considered - they would write to Cosette's mother, and perhaps then she would come and find her daughter and take her back for good. Of course, she would have to pay first…

It must be noted that while some dreams can be considered portholes to realities, this one was only partly so. The truth was slightly altered.

Quite a ways back in the woods stood a weedy little man and his large, burly wife. Each of them held lit lanterns, and hanging off of the woman's arms were two little girls, one plump and blonde and the other slender and brunette. Both of the little girls were half-asleep where they stood.

"Could be anywhere out here," the man mumbled. He began moving in one direction, but when his foot came down on air rather than ground, he recoiled in shock, looking down the sudden drop off. "Well, well…" he muttered to himself, bending down and shining the light from his lantern down the ledge.

"_Maman_, I want to go home," whined Azelma as her father searched with his eagle eyes. Madame Thenardier silenced her daughter with a tender kiss on the head.

"Lucia," the man called out suddenly. "I… I found something." He had climbed down the drop-off, and was now holding up the discarded bucket. He motioned out beside him, and his wife saw the fast-moving stream.

Madame Thenardier's thoughts were suddenly, for the first time, on her little son. "_Mon Dieu_," she whispered. "My boy…"

"What will we tell Fantine?" Monsieur Thenardier asked gruffly, fingering the handle of the bucket.

"We'll… need money for the funeral…" Madame Thenardier suggested, tears coming to her eyes.

She watched as her husband climbed back up the rocks, and they returned down the path they way they had come, a morbid, deathly air about them.

The next day, they would write Fantine in Montrieul-sur-Mer. The poor woman would receive the letter four days later and pay a man to have it read to her.

Her despair need not be described. Unaware that her daughter still lived, poor Fantine continued working in misery.

Thus ends Cosette's days as a working girl for the Thenardiers. For when she woke up the morning after her great escapade, she found herself in a different world entirely.


	2. Introduction to the Wasps' Nest

**Ooh, this chapter was so much fun to write!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Les Miserables_. **

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Chapter Two: Introduction to the Wasps' Nest

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"I've got you cornered now, _scum_! Pre_pare_ to meet your make-"

"Hey, that's no fair! I broke your gun - you can't just pick up another one off of the ground!"

"And who ever said that?"

"_I _did! If I didn't have a gun I bet you that _you_ wouldn't let _me_ break the rules and just _rearm_ myself-"

"I bet you I would."

"Would not!"

"C'mon, Nic-"

"_General_!"

"Fine, 'General Courfeyrac'. Just drop the stick and let Jehan beat you."

"Now you're making me sound like a child! Just because I'm still ten doesn't mean I can't beat someone unless their _unarmed_, Mathieu!"

"Oh, and now he's contradicting himself!"

"Nicolas-"

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Had the three boys not been arguing so arduously, Cosette might have continued sleeping into the afternoon. She had already been fast asleep on the grassy ground, curled up next to the fence, for a full twelve hours - it was almost ten o' clock in the morning. It was amazing, in fact, that she had managed to sleep through the boisterous game of War up until now. It was only when the "generals" began their argument over the apparently hazy rules that the shouting roused her from her sleep. 

"And General Nicolas de Courfeyrac has conquered!"

"With a gun he shouldn't have had in the first place!"

"Jehan, just let it go."

Cosette opened her eyes, and found herself staring right into the base of the fence she had scaled last night. There was a brief moment of confusion for the girl as she felt the soft, dewy grass beneath her and wondered, where is my pallet? The moist ground was a relief to the back that was close to being ruined by her less-than-adequate mattress.

Then, Cosette heard a noise beside her, and she turned to spot little Gavroche propped up against the fence, his fingers in his mouth. Upon seeing that Cosette was awake, he let out a little cry of joy, and made a move towards her.

"Good morning, 'Vroche," Cosette murmured. But Gavroche's attention towards her was short-lived - he almost immediately spotted a little bird atop the fence, and he raised his grubby hand and shouted, "Bir!"

"_Mon Dieu_, what was that?" came the voice of one of the young boys sharing the yard that had served Cosette as a bed. Startled, Cosette sat up straight, hugging her bare knees to her chest, and looked across the garden with wide eyes. The discovery of the strange little girl in hiding was now inevitable.

"Hullo, what are you doing here?" said one of the boys as he crossed the expanse of yard and looked confusedly at Cosette. He appeared to be a few years older than her - maybe eleven or twelve. He had droopy, light brown hair and long, wiry legs, and he was dressed nicely. His family must have been very rich, Cosette determined.

This was "General Nicolas de Courfeyrac".

"I…" Cosette stammered, scrambling up onto her feet. The other two boys followed behind Nicolas, bewildered and amused at the bizarre little girl in rags. "I… I'll go, right now, I mean - "

"Might I ask what you were doing in my yard?" Nicolas asked, a familiar air of regality in his voice, not dissimilar to that of Eponine Thenardier.

"I was just sleeping," Cosette said quickly. "I didn't mean to get in anybody's way." Her hands trembling, she reached for Gavroche and turned back towards the fence. Now how in the world was she going to mount it again without embarrassing herself?

"No, it's fine," Nicolas protested. "What I meant was, what were you doing out here, in the woods, and in the middle of the night I would guess?" He raised one eyebrow.

"I… was running away from home," Cosette admitted. Suddenly the idea seemed very foolish of her. How childish she must have looked to these older boys! Her cheeks reddened noticeably.

"Ah, a little rebel," Nicolas laughed. Then, he stepped forwards and extended a hand. "My name is Nicolas. Nicolas de Courfeyrac. You?"

"I'm Cosette," Cosette said, shaking the boy's hand nervously. He had a charming, friendly air about him, and it put her at ease a little.

"That's a pretty name," said one of the other two boys, a fellow with a modest voice who looked to be as small as Cosette. This one had a head of long, light brown hair that was tied back as neatly as possible, and large green eyes that made him look a bit like a newborn deer. He was the one who had been arguing against Nicolas's rearming.

"And these are my friends," Nicolas went on. He motioned to the small, green-eyed boy. "This is Jean Prouvaire."

"I prefer Jehan, actually. Pleased to meet you," said Jehan, and Cosette returned the greeting.

"And this is my best mate, Mathieu Combeferre."

The third boy, who had not spoken, came forwards to shake hands with Cosette. He was a slender, bespectacled boy with thick, auburn hair that appeared a tad unruly, and kind brown eyes. "Hullo," he said as he shook Cosette's hand. It was clear Mathieu was the oldest of the trio - his voice was already deepening.

"And who's this?" Jehan asked, motioning to Gavroche, who had begun to amuse himself with the "gun" (a stick) which Nicolas had dropped.

"This is Gavroche," Cosette introduced. "My little brother."

"Hullo, Gavroche," Jehan said tenderly.

"Hell," replied the toddler, and Cosette laughed, remembering his constant mispronunciation of the word, despite intense pleading on his frustrated mother's part. Cosette knew he would grow out of it, however, and until then it amused those who understood the mistake.

Jehan seemed a bit confused at first, but Cosette explained, "He's only two. He's not great at speaking yet."

"Would you like to come in and have something to eat?" Nicolas asked suddenly. Cosette was filled with an anxious apprehension. Would this mean meeting Nicolas's parents? What if they tried to send her back?

"I don't know," she said hesitantly.

"You're worried about getting sent back home?" Nicolas laughed. He had a nice laugh, Cosette noted. "Don't fret, little radical. We'll get all of this sorted out." He grabbed her hand and began to lead her towards the house. Gavroche followed on his grubby hands and knees before Cosette stopped to pick him up.

The house before them was grand. It was made of bricks and appeared before their eyes like a castle, with a sprawling garden surrounding it and more windows than Cosette believed she had ever seen on one building - perhaps in any town she had ever visited. Nicolas noticed her surprise and said, "Isn't it gaudy?" She had no reply - they were currently passing by a large bed of flowers which were arranged in a rainbow of pink shades. "It took three generations to complete, and considering that my brothers are already in school, preparing to make themselves useful, it looks like it's mine to inherit. I am elated, as you can gather." He was being sarcastic.

They were now approaching a large veranda. Presently an enormous black dog came darting across the porch to greet them. He immediately shoved his snout at the front of Jehan's pants.

"Well, good morning to you too, Bonnie," Jehan said nervously.

"Bonnie loves Jehan," Mathieu explained.

"Made the mistake of feeding her once," Jehan admitted as he attempted to shove the dog away from him.

"Don't be so nervous," joked Nicolas. "She isn't going to hurt you." The boys went into a series of pleas and jokes surrounding Bonnie's ambush, but Cosette did not notice much. She was too busy admiring the décor of the veranda and what she could see of the house through the large windows. All of the furniture looked as though it had cost more than the worth of the Thenardiers' inn, per piece. Was Cosette mistaken about Nicolas de Courfeyrac's identity? Had the king once lived here? Had she unknowingly wandered as far as Versailles?

Nicolas turned his attention once more to his bedazzled guest. "Well, we have lemonade, ice water, I can always raid the liquor cabinet - I know the lock combinations."

"Believe me," interrupted Mathieu. "He's not above that." This earned him a swift elbow to the ribcage.

"There's tea," added Jehan.

"Which only someone like Jehan could drink in _July_, of all times," commented Nicolas. "And to eat," he went on, "we have just about everything. We're in the middle of preparation for a well-to-do, stuffy dinner party. My mother's birthday, I believe. We have so many of them I've lost track."

"Birthdays?" Cosette wondered confusedly.

"No, dinner parties, I mean," amended Nicolas, and Cosette nodded.

"A glass of water is fine for me," she said modestly. "Please."

"Directly," said Nicolas with a swift nod of his head. He made a beeline for the back door of the house, inside of which Cosette could make out the shapes of people scurrying around with various decorations in their hands.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Mathieu, pulling up a chair for Cosette to sit in, which she did, "where is it you've come from?"

Hesitantly, Cosette answered, "About a two hours' walk down the creek. Wherever Monfermeil is." The boys' eyes widened.

"You _must_ have been tired!" exclaimed Jehan.

"Well, where am I now?" asked Cosette.

"Just north of Gagny."

Cosette did not know what or where Gagny was, but she guessed by the look on Jehan's face that it was quite a ways from the Thenardiers' inn. A delight filled her heart. She would never be found, now!

"So are you in a row with your family?" asked Mathieu.

"I'm…" Cosette paused. Should she give away her plans to this boy? He _did _seem nice. Perhaps these people, the de Courfeyrac's, could help her. "I'm looking for my mother, actually."

"But I thought you said you were running _away_ from home," Jehan inquired.

"Not really my home," Cosette said, shaking her head. "The people I've lived with since I was small. My mother is off somewhere, working. She sends money. I want to find her, though."

"Do you know where she is?" asked Mathieu.

Cosette's heart fell. "I haven't the slightest clue. 'Somewhere-sur-Mer', I think. But there must be a hundred of places by the sea!" Still, she managed a smile. "But I just know I'll find her someday, even if I have to look my whole life."

Jehan and Mathieu exchanged glances which Cosette did not see. She was busy arranging Gavroche's hair, which had gotten askew.

"Well," Mathieu said politely. "We'll help anyway we can." Cosette smiled. She was growing fond of these boys.

At that moment, Nicolas emerged from the house, his head still turned towards the open door. "I'll take care of it later!" he was shouting. "_Mon Dieu_, I have all afternoon till he gets here!" Once he had closed the door, Nicolas made his way towards the table at which his friends and Cosette were now sitting. He had one sweating glass of water in his hand, and he passed it to the little girl before pulling up a chair of his own.

"There you go," he said kindly. Then, he turned to the other boys and said in a grave voice, "My parents just told me - Christian's coming to stay for the party."

Mathieu groaned, but Jehan got an innocent, puzzled look on his face. "What's wrong? I rather like Christian."

"The boy's a whiny brat," Nicolas complained, throwing a look at Cosette, explaining his dislike for such people. "All that attention from dearest mother and father has gotten to his head."

"Sounds irritating," Cosette agreed quietly, thinking of Eponine and Azelma. "Kind of like someone I know."

Mathieu ran his fingers through his auburn curls. "And you have to share a room with him, don't you," he said, more of a pitying statement than a question.

"Yes," groaned Nicolas. "And that means that before he gets here for dinner, I have to pull in the trundle bed, wash the sheets, dust my bedroom, _and_ switch out the soap in the bathroom."

"Is he sickly?" asked Cosette.

"Allergic to _every_thing," said Nicolas with a nod.

"It isn't his fault," argued Jehan, but his protest was weak against Nicolas's.

Suddenly, a voice from the back door startled the group. Cosette almost dropped her water.

"Nicolas de Courfeyrac, do I have to ask you again to-"

Madame Paulette de Courfeyrac stopped short in her chastisement when she saw Cosette and Gavroche seated at the table alongside her son and his guests.

"Well, who is this?" she inquired, one eyebrow raised.

* * *

**Uh-oh, trouble.**


	3. Facing Authority

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Chapter Three: Facing Authority

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"And you've decided to help her?"

"C'mon, mother, can't you take a little bit of pity on her? The girl's been abused!"

"Nicolas, this girl is not the same as when you rescued that cat-"

"I'm not saying she's the same as Neige-"

"That's not my point, Nicolas. My point is that this girl has a home, and she needs to go back to it."

"Madame de Courfeyrac, if I may interrupt briefly…"

"Yes, Mathieu?"

"Perhaps you should listen to her side. You see, she's trying to find her mother…"

Cosette listened as Nicolas tried to argue her case in the next room, with the help of Mathieu. While it was physically more comfortable inside the lush house, the tension caused by the overheard discussion was making her feel awkward and fidgety.

"Maybe I should just go," she said to Jehan, who was seated beside her on the couch, for the hundredth time.

"No, it will be alright," he assured her once more. "Nicolas's mother is a softy. She'll end up helping you, I promise."

Cosette nodded weakly and patted Gavroche on the head. The small boy was fast asleep against her shoulder.

"I am not saying we should abandon her, Nicolas. I am merely saying I do not feel that we should assist her in running away from home. Perhaps someone there will miss her!"

"Madame, if I may interrupt once more-"

Exasperatedly: "Yes, Mathieu?"

"It was not her home, par se, she said. She had no relation to them, and from the sound of it she and her brother were treated cruelly."

Cosette smiled. That was not what she had told Mathieu and Jehan, but it helped to argue her case. Sure, she could pretend the Thenardiers had beaten her. It made a great story.

Jehan put on hand on her arm, and Cosette looked up at him. "How about I show you around the house?" he asked softly. Cosette nodded - she was tiring of listening to the argument, somewhat.

"Gavroche," she started to say to wake up her brother, but Jehan shook his head.

"We can leave him here. He looks like he needs the sleep."

* * *

By the time Jehan had showed Cosette half of the house, she was again determined that royalty had once lived here. When she expressed this to Jehan, the boy just laughed and said, "Not literally. But I guess you could say that Nicolas's father fancies himself to be a king of sorts. He has some noble lineage, which explains why he had enough to money to install - " Jehan put his hand on the knob of a door " - solid golden doorknobs." 

Cosette marveled over the very idea. She did not believe she had ever seen real gold up close in her life, except in rings and necklaces; and even those had been plated, she guessed.

"Hullo, Prouvaire," said a sudden voice from behind. "Who's the kid?"

Cosette turned around to see, standing behind her, what appeared to be an older version of Nicolas. He has the same long legs, and a similar gait as his eleven-year-old brother. The only first-glance difference was that his eyes, brown in contrast to grey, held a different sort of light. Where Nicolas's were playful and youthful, his brother's eyes were wise and alert.

"Good to see you home, Frederic," Jehan greeted with a smile. "How is school?"

"Educational," answered Frederic de Courfeyrac with a jesting voice.

"This is Nicolas's second-oldest brother, Frederic," Jehan said to Cosette as an explanation. "He's studying medicine in Paris."

"Pleased to meet you," said the girl.

"Same to you," said Frederic. He turned to his brother's friend. "And this is…"

"Cosette," said Jehan. "She's visiting for the day."

_Depending on how the argument downstairs turns out_, thought Cosette.

Suddenly, there was the noise of a ruckus downstairs, and the echo of an angry shout sounded from the area of the parlor.

"Paulette? Nicolas? What in the world is a _baby_ doing in my house?"

"Nicolas's father!" Jehan exclaimed.

"He found Gavroche!" squeaked Cosette, unknowingly grabbing for Jehan's arm.

"Would you mind explaining?" Frederic asked, but Jehan and Cosette were already to the stairs.

They reached the parlor to find Paulette standing in front of a large, mustached man with sharp eyes and a gold-handled cane in one hand. This, Cosette guessed was Nicolas's and Frederic's father. Standing nervously behind his mother was Nicolas himself.

"There's a very good explanation for this," the boy was saying.

As soon as Cosette saw the scene, she ran at top speed over to the sofa and grabbed Gavroche. Holding the now-crying baby close to her chest, she looked around with frantic eyes. "It's alright," she whispered to him, while almost at the same time saying, "I'll just be on my way. I'm sorry for making myself a burden. No, it's alright, 'Vroche, calm down." She made her way to the door. "I'm sorry I've caused such a ruckus."

"No, dear, wait just a moment," said Madame de Courfeyrac, putting her hand on the little girl's shoulder as she passed by. Cosette was startled by the woman's sudden act of compassion. Looking around at the boys, Cosette caught a hint in Nicolas's and Mathieu's eyes that there was something going on.

"Etienne, dear, come in the dining room and let me explain," said Paulette, leading her fuming husband away.

As soon as his parents were gone, Nicolas sprung forwards in a burst of excitement. "Everything is going to be alright, Cosette," he said.

"What do you mean?" the girl asked. She continued to caress the child in her arms.

"Nicolas here won your argument," explained Mathieu. "His mother has promised to help you."

"_And_," Nicolas went on, "you can stay here in the meantime!"

"What?" Cosette was shocked. _Stay here_? She suddenly felt terribly dirty to be standing upon such white carpet.

"Yep," said Nicolas. But even as he was speaking, the arguing couple reentered the room.

"Another mouth to feed, another bed taken - " Monsieur de Courfeyrac was saying.

"Now Etienne, dear," Paulette protested.

Cosette hurried forwards. "Please, if I am too much of a burden, I can just leave - " As the words came out of her mouth, though, Cosette felt a great regret. Even in the hour she had been here, she was feeling a bizarre attachment to the house, and to the people she had met.

"No, we won't let you go back into the woods, _cherie_," Madame de Courfeyrac said, shaking her head and turning back to her husband.

"You don't _really_ want to leave, _do_ you?" whispered Nicolas to Cosette. The girl shook her head quickly.

"If you let me stay," she heard herself saying suddenly, "I could help around the house." This made the room go silent. "I could work. I've been a serving girl my whole life, Monsieur. Please - I don't really want to leave, if possible."

The man considered this, and as he did his son leaned over again and whispered, "Is that true?"

"Yes," Cosette whispered back with a brief nod.

"Alright," said Monsieur de Courfeyrac in his booming voice, startling Cosette, who had not been paying much mind to him. "Paulette, take her to Angelette. Have them find a place for her in the quarters."

"What?" Cosette breathed beneath the sudden commotion as Paulette took her by the arm, Nicolas let out a _whoop_, and Gavroche gurgled happily upon sensing the palpable excitement.

"Welcome to the de Courfeyrac home," Nicolas said in a dramatically polite voice. "Dearest Cosette - the newest member of our housekeeping staff."

Thus begins a third stage in Cosette's life.

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**Review, please!**


	4. Further Introductions

**I know, this is a dreadfully short and boring chapter, but I felt like I had to put something up to prove that I'm not dead or anything. I got writer's block on chapter seven, but it's all better now.**

**I don't own _Les Miserables_.**

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Chapter Four: Further Introductions

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Upon first glance, Angelette, the head of the household at the de Courfeyrac's estate, appeared as though she could be related to Madame Thenardier. She had a burly figure, with large hands and feet and tousled red hair. The sight actually made Cosette jump, and she hugged Gavroche more tightly.

But after a proper introduction, it was revealed that Angelette thankfully bore none of Madame's personality traits. She was actually quite kind and gentle.

"So do you have room for her?" Paulette asked once she was finished relating Cosette's story. Angelette laughed in a hoarse, bass voice and said,

"Of _course_ we have room! There's always room for another pair of hands to help around here."

Cosette looked between the two women and said quietly, "What about Gavroche?"

"Her brother," Paulette added as an explanation.

"Ah," said Angelette. "I'm sure Rosie would be glad to take care of the boy. You know, he looks rather like her boy, Leon…." She got a very somber look on her face for a moment, and she and Madame de Courfeyrac exchanged glances.

Soon after, Paulette departed to continue with the party preparations, and Angelette took Cosette by the hand to show her to the quarters. "You got anything with you?" she asked, and Cosette shook her head.

"Just the clothes on our backs," she said softly.

"Well, we'll provide you with everything you need here," Angelette assured her. They stopped in front of a door, and Angelette opened it, now leading Cosette down a staircase and into the servants' quarters.

* * *

The housekeeping staff at the de Courfeyrac home was a motley assortment of workers; significantly less than Cosette had guessed would be working at such a castle, and the girl was introduced to the whole of them, or at least those present in the wing at the time, in under half of an hour.

First, Cosette met Kate and the launderers. Kate was a thin, intelligent, homely girl in her twenties who spoke English to herself with a bizarre accent which Cosette was not familiar with. She was in charge because curse words in English were much more ominous to those who did not understand them, namely the giggling gaggle of laundry girls who worked beneath Kate and splashed water into each others' rosy faces.

Gregoire was the head butler - a stout man in his fifties who sported a dark mustache and a round belly that gave him the appearance of Pere Noel in the flesh. He was like a grandfather in his presentation - he slipped Cosette a _bon-bon _when no one was looking.

Working beneath Gregoire, as a busboy, was a handsome young lad, not much older than Nicolas and his friends, named Daniel. He had long, blonde hair and a lazy way of walking, which often got him in trouble with his superiors. Working in the kitchen beneath the head chef was Daniel's older brother, Oscar, a gangly, light-hearted boy of seventeen.

Then, once Cosette assumed she had met everybody, Angelette introduced her to Rosie, the head maid.

Rosie was about the same age as Kate, if not a bit older. She was tall and thin, with wide brown eyes and a long auburn plait falling down her narrow back. When she smiled at Cosette, the latter saw that one of Rosie's front teeth was missing, leaving a gap in her otherwise pleasant visage. And when she walked away to return to her duties, Cosette noticed something particularly tired in the young woman's posture. In her child's mind, she immediately began to invent a story for Rosie. Orphan? Long-lost daughter of an English noble?

"She's been working here two years now," Angelette explained, seeing Cosette's pondering face, "to support her little son, Leon. Kid doesn't have a father, and he's staying with one of Rosie's brothers up in Longperrier. The poor girl has it tough."

Cosette did not know what Longperrier was, but nonetheless Rosie's story intrigued her. _Like _my_ mother_, she thought excitedly, and immediately, Rosie became her favorite staff member.

"Now let's get you to the quarters where the maids sleep," Angelette said, tugging on Cosette's free hand and leading her down the hall.

* * *

Cosette felt like an English maid from a storybook as she stood outside of Nicolas's room, all done up in an apron and a dress which was too big, and wielding a feather duster in one hand. She knocked once. She knocked twice, and there was still no answer.

"Sorry, but I'm not in there," said a voice from behind Cosette all of the sudden, and she squeaked audibly. She turned around swiftly to see Nicolas standing arrogantly against the wall, smiling as usual.

"I was just coming to help clean up your room," Cosette said hurriedly. "Angelette sent me."

"Ha," laughed Nicolas. "They didn't think I would actually do it!" He stepped past the little girl and opened the door to his room. Cosette was enthralled. The bedroom must have been _three times_ the size of the Thenardier girls' bedroom back home, with windows that reached the floor and ceiling, and a huge, four-poster bed that must have filled up at least half of the space. The rest of the free space in the room was taken up with lovely wood furniture, and set up in the corner was a cot that appeared much like those in the servant's quarters.

"For Christian," Nicolas explained, motioning to the cot.

But despite the room's splendor, every one of the magnificent surfaces was covered with odds and ends; a light layer of dust; items of clothing strewn about as though a thunderstorm had hit the wardrobe placed in the corner whilst it was open. The bed was unmade, with the sheets strewn about, and the sheets set up for the cot were still set folded upon the dresser. Why, it must have been weeks since a maid had set herself to work in here!

"You don't have to bother with the sheets," Nicolas said, much to Cosette's relief. "They have to be washed anyway." He scratched his head. "Christian's sleeping in a cot in the corner, and we still have to sanitize the bed!"

"Does he have a kind of condition?" Cosette asked gently as she set off to dust the parts of the dresser that she could get to. The entirety of the mess would have to be placed on the floor, she supposed, while she dusted.

"Something with his heart doesn't work so well," Nicolas rattled off. "But that aside, his parents are just obsessive with his safety."

Cosette was not sure how she felt about meeting this boy, from the descriptions provided by Nicolas and his friends. The younger boy, Jehan, had seemed to like him decently enough, but as far as she could tell, Nicolas thought him to be somewhat of a ninny.

_I'll just have to wait and see_, Cosette thought, wondering how she would keep track of all of the people around here.

* * *

It took a full hour to organize Nicolas's bedroom, half of which was spent picking up the odds and ends strewn across the area so that she could get to the dusting. Once she was done with that, she set herself to picking back up the items she had set on the floor, and organizing them as best as she could. Then, she took the sheets off of the bed and carried them down to the laundry area, which took a few additional minutes to locate. Upon returning to the room, she continued her trek of the room with the feather duster, until she was sure every corner was devoid of dust. _There won't be a single sneeze in here_, she thought to herself as she stood in the middle of the room, contemplating her afternoon's work. Just as she was doing so, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," Cosette called, out of habit straightening herself up and making sure it did not look as though she had been caught in her thoughts. But when the door opened, it was neither a member of the family nor a member of the housekeeping staff. Instead, it was a young boy, and at first glance Cosette knew just who he was.

Christian Joly was a thin, pale boy of twelve, with a fragile look about his childish frame. He had a mop of beautiful black curls that hung into his small face and partially hid his wide, green eyes, at once alert and thoughtful. He was dressed in the expensive clothes of a rich child, much like Nicolas and his brother, but unlike his friends there was a cautious, sickly look about the way he entered the room. As he walked, he fiddled with a handkerchief in his small hands.

"Hello," he greeted, in a voice that suggested he had been expecting the room to occupied by someone else. Just as he was speaking, Daniel the busboy appeared behind him, toting a sizeable suitcase. "Thank you," said Christian politely, and Daniel nodded at him as he left.

"Good afternoon," Cosette replied.

"Good afternoon to you as well. Do you know where Nicolas is?" Christian asked. He reached for his bag and carried it across the room with less difficulty than his size suggested, setting it beside the sheetless cot.

"Downstairs," chirped Cosette, motioning to the door. "Or out in the yard, with his friends."

"Oh," Christian answered. "I didn't seen anyone out there."

"It's a large house," Cosette assured him.

Christian walked over, at last deciding to introduce himself, and stuck out one pale hand. "I'm Christian," he said.

"Cosette," the little girl answered, shaking his hand in response.

"You're a maid here?" he asked, looking at her attire.

Cosette nodded. "Not for very long yet, though." To occupy herself, she absentmindedly began to re-dust one section of the dresser. "You're here for Madame de Courfeyrac's birthday party?" Cosette asked conversationally. When Christian nodded she said, "I've heard a lot about you," hoping to insinuate that Nicolas had been saying good things. Christian was not fooled, however; obviously he knew that Nicolas and his friends bore a grudge against him.

"Nicolas doesn't like me all that much, I know," he said sadly. "It's because of the way my parents treat me. He thinks I'm spoiled."

Cosette did not know exactly what to say to this, so she kept her mouth closed and went on with the cleaning. Finally, when the silence became unbearable and Christian did not do anything about it, Cosette said, "Jehan seems to like you."

"Jehan is here?" Christian asked, his tone not as pleased as Cosette had hoped. Had Jehan been lying? Was Christian really disliked by all of them?

"Yes," said Cosette. "Or at least he was this morning. He showed me around the house."

"You really _haven't _been here for long," noted Christian with slightly amused eyes.

Cosette shook her head. "Well," she said in conclusion. "I'm sure those boys like you just fine. At least, they will in time. You're a perfectly nice boy!"

Christian smiled. "Thanks," he said. "You know, I'm glad I met you."

Cosette blushed to herself and watched as he walked out of the bedroom to find Nicolas and his friends.

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**One of my friends told me I remind her of Eponine. **

**Ew. **


	5. Getting to Know You

Okay, here's chapter five... obviously. More or less a filler chapter. :P

Even so, I DO NOT OWN _LES MISERABLES_.

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Chapter Five: Getting to Know You

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"Here - do you want some bread? Oh, you must be starving, Gavroche!"

Cosette watched as the child quickly consumed the roll she had passed him from their plain wooden seats in the kitchen. Through the swinging doors, Cosette could hear the noises of dinner conversation, and around her servants were hurrying back and forth with various foods to be served and dishes to be washed. It was all very exhilarating. Despite her suggestions to keep her "brother" out of the fray, Cosette felt she could not just leave him in the quarters while there was such excitement to be seen upstairs. It was just like a dinner at the Thenardier inn, only with more people, and the guests were not drunk and singing tavern songs.

"Coming through," said a voice above Cosette's head, and she looked up to see Cerise, the red-haired serving girl, making her way through carefully with a tray of full wine glasses. Cosette backed up her chair to make room, keeping Gavroche from following Cerise out the door as she did so. The girl caught a quick peek of the dinner party as the door was swinging closed, and in those couple of seconds she caught sight of Nicolas, all dressed up in fine clothes, slipping something green off of his plate and into his napkin, which was set in his lap. Cosette laughed out loud.

"Cosette?"

At the sound of Angelette's loud voice, Cosette turned her head swiftly, thinking distinctly of Madame Thenardier. _I've done something wrong?_ she thought frantically. But what she saw on the woman's face was not displeasure - it was quite the opposite.

"I was up in Nicolas's room just a few minutes ago," Angelette said, "and I saw what a job you did on that cleaning! _Petite_, I think you are a natural! Why, that's as clean as I believe I have ever seen his room. I think we had all outright forgotten what color the carpet was." Cosette blushed as Angelette walked away, laughing loudly.

* * *

It was almost ten o' clock when the dinner party moved from the dining room into the tremendous great room, where a quartet and drink table were set up; it was at this point that the servants went and collected the dishes from the table for washing. 

"Cosette, _cherie, _go ahead on to bed," Angelette told Cosette as she bustled back to the kitchen with a handful of platters. The little girl nodded.

"C'mon, Gavroche," she said, tugging on the toddler's hand. Gavroche may as well have been sleepwalking; his eyes were closed as he staggered after Cosette.

The hall which led to the servants' quarters happened to be on the other side of the great room, Cosette was nervous to remember. She opened the door to the room slowly, trying her hardest to be as quiet as a mouse in a chapel. The music was lively - a waltz! Cosette marveled at the sight of the men in their finery and the women in their silken hoops, dancing in circles and lines and laughing at one another's jokes. Cosette picked up Gavroche and passed silently across the room, her fingers tapping on the child's back in rhythm to the music. Just as she reached the other side of the room, Cosette heard a familiar laugh from one side of her. She turned to see three young boys seated in the chairs next to the bookcases. They were Mathieu, Jehan, and fragile little Christian.

"First comes love, then comes marriage," Mathieu was saying with a chuckle as he pointed at something across the room. Staying out of sight, Cosette followed his finger to a pair of dancers in the fray of the party. It was a disgruntled Nicolas, dancing with a pale little girl of Cosette's own age, who wore her thin, blonde hair in a bow that matched her light blue gown. The girl looked delighted at the arrangement, but as her back was turned to Nicolas, the boy flicked an obscene hand gesture in the direction of his mocking friends. Nicolas was, however, unfortunate enough to be seen by his mother, who immediately rushed over to grab him by the ear. Cosette left before she witnessed any punishment.

"Nicolas is a very interesting boy," she said to Gavroche as she descended the now-familiar stairs.

_And I imagine he will grow up to be quite handsome_, her mind added by itself. Then, in a more thoughtful sense, _I wonder if I will be here long enough to find out…_

* * *

"Come in." 

Cosette cautiously opened the door to Nicolas's bedroom, fidgetting with the duster in her hand as she did so. She did not want to become prey to any inadvertent male nudity, much like that in romance stories she had heard in years past. But when she entered the room, she instead saw Nicolas lying on his bed, fully dressed, reading a book. His long, light brown hair hung unkempt in his freckled face, and his grey eyes were adorned with proper dark circles as he looked up amusedly at his maid. Christian was nowhere to be seen.

"Hullo, Cosette," Nicolas said casually, sitting up in bed. He closed the book; it was an adventure story Cosette had not heard told before. "Mother told me you'd been put in charge of my bedroom after what a splendid job you did with it yesterday." He smirked and motioned to the clutter. "All your."

Cosette smiled politely at him and set to work folding the sheets on the cot in the corner. Sheets were washed once a week, she had been told in a briefing that morning, on Fridays (it was now Saturday). Yet with Christian staying one more night, it was necessary to wash his sheets again. Cosette placed them out in the hallway through the open door.

"So you really were a maid where you came from?" Nicolas asked conversationally. He was apparently not leaving this time, Cosette realized.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice. "My whole life." _How did the dresser get so cluttered in just one night of sleeping?_

"Tell me about it," Nicolas suggested. "Your home, I mean."

Cosette bit her lip in thought. "It was nothing like this," she said timidly. "Very small; dirty. Not grand at all."

"Yes, Jehan told me you think my house a castle." Nicolas laughed, and Cosette blushed. "And where was this home of yours?"

Timidly: "Monfermeil."

Nicolas let out a low whistle. "That's a good two hours' walk from here! You must have been tired last night."

"Extremely," Cosette answered. "Would you please get off of your bed? I need to take the sheets."

Nicolas moved. "And the people? What were they like?"

Cosette wrinkled her nose. "Why are you suddenly so interested?"

"Well," Nicolas began. "When you're shut up in a place like this for as long as I have been, you kind of get curious-"

"You don't like it here?" Cosette gathered. "But you have so much…"

"Money?" Nicolas suggested. "_Pshaw_, and pomp, and grandeur, and frigidity." Cosette had once heard this last word from Madame Thenardier, used in a way embarrassing to an eight-year-old's ears - she guessed that Nicolas was using it with a different definition.

"So what has your life been like that you wanted so badly to run away?" Nicolas persisted, and this time Cosette understood his curiosity. Just as Cosette had been plugged up in Monfermeil her whole life, dreaming of the princesses in storybooks, perhaps Nicolas had been stuck in this castle, wondering about the life outside… It was just like a fantasy tale!

"It was horrid," Cosette admitted. "You see, my mother left me with the family when I was only three, and since then I have been working for them. I had to sleep underneath the stairs, and, you see now, they chopped my hair off so it did not have to be brushed like their daughters'."

"How many daughters?"

"Two," said Cosette. "They're younger than me, and they aren't nice." She hummed in thought. "I forgive them, though. They don't know what they're doing. It's their parents that do all of the ordering around and such. I suppose it would have been a better life if there had been more servants than just me, but Madame and Monsieur are poor, and they did not even have to pay my mother."

"What about your brother?" asked Nicolas, an inquisitive look on his naturally expressive face.

"Oh, Gavroche is not _really _my brother," Cosette told him. "But his parents did not care for him well, so I took him with me."

"Ah, a rebel _and _a felon!" joked Nicolas. "I must say, the kitchen staff have taken quite a liking to him. Perhaps he'll grow up to be a great kitchen boy?"

"Do you really think we'll be staying that long?" Cosette asked, alarmed. She stopped dusting the dresser to turn and look at him.

"It could take a while you find your mother," said Nicolas, his voice steady. He repeated: "Yes, it could be a while. Do you know how to track her down?"

"She did write letters to the Thenardiers…" Cosette thought aloud. "But that would mean going back! Oh, they would skin me alive, Nicolas!" Her eyes grew frantic.

"Now, I never said that," Nicolas assured her hastily. "I just meant, do you have a name? An address? _Surely_ you must know her name."

Cosette took on an air of determination. "I'll find her," she stated simply. "I'm sure she must be looking for me, as well. You see, the Thenardiers probably wrote her, telling her I was missing. Then she'll be _sure_ to come and look for me in the woods!"

Nicolas tried to smile, despite his feeling of pity and his growing expression of skepticism at the idea of Cosette's task. _I can't tell her_, he thought as he watched the child stretch her skinny arms to reach the top of the armoire. _She'll find out._ Now in an amiable mood, Cosette sang softly as she worked - it was a tavern song, and the majority of the words were pronounced wrong and most likely meaningless to the eight-year-old. Nicolas laughed and left the room.

* * *

It is necessary at this point to skip forwards several days and briefly relay Fantine's doings at the time. 

The letter from the Thenardiers had arrived on Tuesday. It read as follows:

_Dearrest Fantine_,

_We (Mme. and Monsieur Thenardier) are devistated too be the bearers of bad news, but a great tragedy has occurred on last Friday. Darling littel Cosette was playing near the stream with our children when our son fell into the water. Cosette tried to rescew him but they were both caught in the quick current and were carreed downstreem. They had both drowned before we got to them. _

_The loss has ben a stunning blow to our family, as we loved Cosette and our son very much. We were going to ask you to cum to Monfermeil for the funeral, but we new you would not arrive in time. If you can cum we will hold a second serviss in memory or our dear lost children. _

_A separate paper is enclosed, detailing the money which the funeral cost us, and which we will be needing a payment for immediately._

_Regards, Mme. and M. Thenardier _

It has already been mentioned that Fantine felt unspeakable despair upon receiving this letter. After her grief subsided a bit, she had a letter written to the Thenardiers, saying that she would try and save enough to travel to Monfermeil herself. The page was stained with tears that were shed in the letter-writer's booth.

The letter was lost in the mail, however, and the chronically insincere Thenardiers never received it. In the meantime, Fantine kept working in the factory, earning enough to keep a room and feed herself. She never saved enough to visit Monfermeil. Thus, all tied between Fantine and the Thenardiers were ultimately broken.

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**Reviews make me happy! Love, Giz**


	6. A Close Encounter

**Part two of my handy double update, in which something remotely dramatic occurs... **

**I still don't own it. **

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**Chapter Six: A Close Encounter**

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A month of cleaning and tending to the de Courfeyrac household flew by for Cosette, and before she knew it, it was almost fall. Memories of the Thenardier inn seemed like history to her when she called them to mind, and even the reason for her escapade in the first place got cloudy at times, when she was busy dusting and organizing the bedrooms - her official task. In the quieter moments, however, Cosette would sometimes take a seat in a corner, or on Nicolas's bed, and think about her mother. It could not be _that_ hard to find her, Cosette told herself. At least, it would not be too hard for her once she got old enough to head off once again.

She had come to understand her reason for staying as a household staff member - a maid had recently been let go for circumstances involving a "peculiar condition" which nobody would discuss. It had something to do with one of the gardening boys, however - a conceited blonde boy Cosette had only seen a couple of times. Anyhow, the young maid, who had been in charge of bedrooms, had been asked to leave, creating an empty spot on the staff.

As for Cosette being asked to fill the spot, Madame de Courfeyrac had invited her out of pity for her situation, which was not doubted after some of the stories Cosette had told to her fellow maids. Also, it had been promised to her that she would receive help in finding her mother, as long as she stayed out of the woods. She was much too young to run off traveling the countryside by herself, Angelette had told her.

In the meantime, Cosette was rather enjoying her new home. The people were nice to her, even when she dropped a plate in the kitchen - there was plenty of extra china to be used. In addition to that, the staff found it a joy to have two children around, besides Nicolas de Courfeyrac and his friends. Gavroche had been informally adopted by the quiet and homely Rosie, who took care of him while Cosette was working.

In regards to Nicolas, Cosette still saw him daily when she cleaned his room. He teased her often, and continued to call her "little rebel", a name she found flattering. Their steady friendship was unmistakable - Cosette found herself looking forwards to cleaning his room every day, just so that she could talk to him and listen to his jokes. It took the edge off of her morning fatigue.

In regards to Nicolas's friends, Cosette still saw Mathieu fairly frequently. As it turned out, the tousled-haired boy lived just through the woods. Had Cosette continued walking for another fifteen minutes that fateful night, she would have reached the edge of his yard rather than that of the de Courfeyrac's. Little Jean Prouvaire lived farther away, the only son in a family who was not received well at the de Courfeyrac's unless it were for some large gathering such as Madame's party. Once he left the day after the party, Cosette did not see him again until the middle of the fall. It was the same case with the odd little Joly boy - he was forgotten soon after the party, and did not show up again until Christmas.

In contrast, Cosette saw Mathieu nearly every other day. He and Nicolas were obviously best friends - as close as brothers, it seemed to Cosette when she watched them joke and play in the extensive yard. Mathieu was a nice boy. Whenever Cosette brought the boys lemonade on the back porch, he would ask, "And how are you today, Mademoiselle?" Cosette would always blush brilliantly and reply that she was indeed "fine".

This was not a lie. She was happier here than she had been in all of her five years at the Thenardiers' inn.

One afternoon, Cosette was greeted with two surprises. First, she was granted a reprieve from her work on account of having finished early with flying colors. Second, when she walked outside to relay a message to Nicolas from his mother, she saw Jean Prouvaire crouched on the ground next to the pond, where the other two boys were sitting.

"Do you think that one's having babies?"

"A tadpole can't have babies, Nicolas. It's just a baby itself."

"Presenting Monsieur Mathieu Combeferre, professor of biology."

Jehan laughed at his friends' conversation, but as he did so he happened to look up and catch sight of Cosette standing timidly in the shade of a large bush. She must have looked quite different upon first glance, Cosette figured by his expression. In the past month she had put on quite a bit of weight, and her chopped blonde hair, though still thin and fragile, had grown well past her shoulders and was now pulled up into a proper bun to hold it out of her face, which had now grown rosy and lively rather than sallow and sunken.

"Cosette, is that really you?" Jehan asked with a laugh as he observed the girl.

"Yes," Cosette answered in a small voice, now also achieving the attention of Nicolas and Mathieu. "Nicolas, your mother wanted to speak with you."

"Ah, the hag beckons," said Nicolas, and he received a warning glance from Mathieu, who was actually in part amused. Jehan looked a little appalled. Apparently politeness was of utmost importance in this social class.

Once Nicolas had run off into the house, Cosette made her way after him. She was stopped, however, by Mathieu's voice.

"Cosette," he said in his maturing tone. "If you don't have to get right back to work, would you like to play a game of War with us? We were just about to start."

Cosette raised one eyebrow and smiled, remembering the game she had overheard on her first morning there. "You would have to teach me," she said.

"Ah, no rules, really," said Mathieu.

"Except you can't just rearm yourself by picking up a stick from the ground."

"Jehan, everything would be so much better if you just let it go."

Jehan laughed a little, awkwardly. "So," he said, changing the subject. "Are you in?"

Cosette shrugged. "Why not?"

And thus, the first female general of France was appointed.

* * *

"Surrender your weapon, General Prouvaire! You've been captured!" 

Jehan frowned, as Nicolas grabbed him around the wrists, holding him captive underneath the willow tree which had become the latter's fort. The two were once again the only ones left standing - Jehan through luck, and Nicolas through the fact that he was indeed owner of the yard and the sticks being utilized. Mathieu had been defeated earlier into the game by an imaginary bayonet, regards to Nicolas. Cosette, also prey to the youngest de Courfeyrac son, now sat sweating and happy nearby, watching the end of the War play out in front of her.

"Any last words, Prouvaire?" Nicolas growled playfully.

Jehan got a mock-noble look on his pale face before shouting out, in his distinctly childish voice, "Long live France!" Then, Nicolas stabbed him falsely beneath the arm with a "gun" which had apparently become a "sword" for the occasion, and let out a loud _whoop_ of joy.

"And General Nicolas de Courfeyrac prevails once more," announced Mathieu monotonously. He wiped his brow. "Anyone for lemonade?"

"I'll go fetch some," Cosette offered, but before she could leave Nicolas took her by the arm and shook his head, a smile on his face.

"_I _will get it," he said, pushing his way past.

As they watched Nicolas head inside for the second time that day, the remaining three collapsed beneath the willow tree, looking up at its branches, which were waving back and forth in the warm breeze. Before anyone could speak, however, they were interrupted by a loud voice from the porch.

"Cosette?" called Angelette. She could not see where the children were seated at the back of the garden.

"Yes m'am?" Cosette called, jumping to her feet. Jehan and Mathieu stood up beside her, perhaps to greet the large woman who was presently coming down the stairs to meet her young underling.

"I'm going out to the market," Angelette announced. "Would you come with me, seeing as you're not busy?"

"The market?" marveled Cosette. She had not been out of the Monfermeil/Gagny area for as long as she could remember! Oh, what excitement! "Of course," she said. "But can I drink my lemonade first?" Angelette laughed and nodded as she turned to walk back into the house.

* * *

The large market in Gagny smelled like hay and ripe tomatoes, and was filled with life and movement as townspeople hurried through the aisles and picked through the tubs of fruits and vegetables set out for purchase. 

"Arugula," Angelette kept muttering as she went from booth to booth, pausing to read the signs. "Gregoire said he needed arugula. He could have specified what it looked like, at least." She snorted.

Meanwhile, Cosette was enthralled with the crowd around her. The only times she saw so many people at once were when she was on an errand through Monfermeil, her red hands clutching a basket, or when she was seated beneath the table at the inn, watching the drunken activity in the dining room. Now, all sorts of people seemed to be crammed into the space around her. There were men, women, beggars, workers, children… She was almost hit in the face by the hoop skirt of a woman passing by, obviously from a middle to high class family.

Choking in the scent of perfume that followed, she got turned around and ended up on an aisle that housed meat. Now, the air smelled like fish and preserving spices. It made Cosette hungry to look at the food on all sides of her as she wandered down the row.

At the end was a large booth filled with flowers, both single and placed in arrangements. The scent was wonderful, and Cosette found herself wandering towards it absently, a smile on her face.

"Out of the way of paying customers, child," the woman behind the counter barked at Cosette. But just as Cosette came back to her senses, she was nearly barreled over by a hoard of people getting out of the way of a fast-moving cart, on which was set several crates of something green.

_I wonder if that's arugula_, Cosette thought vaguely before a sudden childish voice sounded loudly in one ear.

"Watch, where you're stepping," barked a tall girl to Cosette's left, whom she had stumbled into in the crowd. As Cosette looked up at the source of the voice, her small heart nearly stopped.

It was Eponine Thenardier, but it seemed as though it was a _different_ Eponine, were such a thing possible. Her eyes, dark brown and lively, were now narrow and flashing frustration as she looked down at Cosette. Her chestnut hair had grown, just as Cosette's had, past her shoulder once more, but it appeared to be unkempt, hanging into her face in greasy strands. Her clothes were not new, and the bottom of her yellow dress was stained with dirt.

Her expression changed when she saw Cosette. The fierce eyes went wide with excitement and anger, and the puckered, unhappy mouth opened in shock. There was a long moment in which she just stared at Cosette, and the latter, too frazzled to move, stared back. Then, something seemed to occur in Eponine's gaze, and with one last look at Cosette she turned directly behind her and yelled loudly, "Papa! Papa! Come here, real quick!" Eponine reached to grab Cosette's arm, but before the latter could be retained she was out of arm's length, sprinting down the meat aisle as fast as her feet would go, her heart pounding in her head.

In Cosette's mind, Eponine was right behind her, followed by her father. In truth, however, Cosette had already entered the bustling throng and, henceforth, was safe, for Eponine could not find her father at any rate.

Panting, Cosette kept running until she bumped into something large and soft.

"There you are!" exclaimed Angelette, looking down at the child. "I was looking all over for you." In her hand was a sack of a leafy vegetable that looked like spinach. "We had best get back to the house, in order to prepare for dinner. Madame has invited over a couple of close friends for the evening."

Cosette nodded as she followed behind Angelette like a shadow, her grey eyes alert and flittering back and forth. She did not sleep that night.

* * *

**Review, please!**


	7. The Rose Begins to Blossom

**HAPPY BIRTHDAY VICTOR HUGO!**

**That's why I decided to post this chapter today, in honor of dear old Vicky Hugh (that's what one of my friends calls him, and it kind of stuck for me). So... Happy Birthday!**

**This is more or less a cute filler chapter, but I can assure you that something vital happens in the next chapter - don't get bored with me.**

**I still don't own _Les Miserables_. Big shocker there.**

**

* * *

Chapter Seven: The Rose Begins to Blossom

* * *

**

"I have not even been eleven for a month, and I can al_ready_ read Latin and most of Greek - no offense to you, Nicolas - as well as some basic English. What do I need to study in Paris for? I am a _child_!" Jehan nearly shouted this last sentence as he ripped another leaf off of the tree branch he was perched on. His pale face was rosy with excitement.

"If I were you," Nicolas drawled from his position in the branch just above Jehan's, "I would run away. Like my little rebel here," he added, motioning to Cosette, who was tending to a flower bed some feet away. It was October now, so most of the flowers were out of bloom. What remained was a mess of dried stems and weeds that needed attention.

Upon hearing her name, Cosette looked up from her work. Ever since her trip to the market with Angelette, Cosette had been restless. Today was one of the rare occurrences when she dared to step outside, for fear that the Thenardiers might have tracked her down. Perhaps Angelette was actually Madame's sister, as she looked? What if Eponine told Madame what she had seen, and Madame had added it all up to discover her serving girl's wherabouts?

"When do you leave?" Mathieu asked Jehan as Cosette turned her attention back to her task, trying to push the fear out of her mind. The oldest boy was lounging against the base of the tree (he was not a climber), his legs stretched out almost to where Cosette was crouched. His auburn hair was longer and more unruly than ever today.

"Directly after Christmas," Jehan said with a childish huff. "_Two months _from now!"

"I can do math," Nicolas shot back. It was obvious that he was not happy about the development in his friend's future - it did not occur to him that his potential boredom would not last forever, as it would soon be time for his own studies in Paris to begin.

"I will go when I am seventeen," said Mathieu. "That's three years."

"And five years until I must leave," Nicolas said dramatically.

"How old are you now, Cosette?" Jehan asked conversationally, trying obviously to push aside his anger.

Cosette, to the boys' surprise, shrugged. "I don't really know when my birthday is. The Thenardiers never told me, and they certainly didn't celebrate." Cosette remembered with a shudder the big to-do's made about the birthdays of Azelma and Eponine (never Gavroche - Cosette knew he was born in the winter, so she just celebrated his birthday by herself on New Years' Day).

"How can a person _not know_ their own _birth_day?" Nicolas asked in horror, all thoughts of Jehan's move put on a shelf for now.

"I just told you," Cosette started to say before he interrupted her.

"We'll celebrate it today," he announced with panache, sitting straight up on his branch. "Right now - October the twenty-first. Remember that date: Cosette's birthday!" He climbed down from the tree branch, nearly stepping on Mathieu as he landed. "How many years old?"

"Nine," Cosette answered, standing up from the flower bed.

"Great," said Nicolas. "I'll go get the lemonade. Mathieu, come with me and help to carry the cake left over from last night." His mother had indeed had another dinner party. "Jehan - stay with Cosette."

As Nicolas and Mathieu walked away, Cosette saw the latter whisper something to his best friend. Nicolas blushed from the neck up and looked swiftly behind him. Cosette tried not to dwell on it, but secretly a smile formed on her face.

* * *

"Is there really even a purpose in growing up?" Jehan asked some twenty minutes later as he wiped his hands off on his pants and dipped the edge of his large toe in the water.

Nicolas raised his eyebrows in warning and said, with a mouth full of bread, "Don't you _dare_ get Mathieu started!"

"Why?" asked Cosette, who was seated beside the auburn-haired boy in question.

"He gets philosophical," Nicolas explained, an emphasis on the mispronunciation of the hardly large word. He said, "Philo_ - soe -_ phical".

Mathieu pushed his best friend playfully in the shoulder. "Just because I put thought into what I say…" he began.

"No, really," Jehan went on. "Have you never wondered _why_? Why couldn't we all just stay this age forever? The world would be easier, I think."

Cosette shook her head. "That's illogical," she said, taking a final bit of her sandwich before she finished it off. "Who would work? And how would people get born?" Cosette did not know much about sex, but she understood that children could not have their own babies.

Jehan considered this, and as he did Mathieu spoke up. "I wonder what we'll all be like in the future. Fifteen, twenty years from now."

"Dashing and rich," Nicolas said without thought. "I'll have a big house in Paris, and a lovely wife, no doubt."

Jehan pursed his lips. "I believe I would like to live right here, in the countryside. I'm don't want to go to Paris, really. I could just sit by the water and play my flute forever." Nicolas snorted.

"I want to study in Paris," Mathieu stated. "Law, maybe. Or perhaps medicine. Cosette?"

The little girl took several moments to think, before she opened her mouth and said, "I'd like to find my mother, and then I'll live in a small house by the sea and take care of her. I think I'd like to get married someday, too." She fiddled with her skirt. "Gavroche will live with me, and I'll have a huge bookshelf right by my bed… I don't think I'll earn much doing whatever I'll do, but I'll be happy." She smiled in conclusion, and none of the boys had a statement to follow up with.

"Sounds nice," said Mathieu with a kind smile. The subject of Cosette's mother was still a sensitive one. "Do you like to read a lot?" he asked in response to her statement regarding the bookshelf.

"Don't know how to," admitted Cosette. "But I listen when people read. I like adventure the best, I think."

"You can't _read_?" marveled Nicolas, but Jehan gave him a warning look before he could finish the question. Of course Cosette couldn't read! - she had been neglected her entire life.

Mathieu looked at the sky for a long time before he finally focused on Cosette's thoughtful face and said, "I could teach you, if you like." Cosette's eyes lit up.

"Oh, really?" she exclaimed. "I would love that!" Cosette clapped her hands together in joy.

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle Cosette," said Mathieu.

* * *

And so, over the first month of Cosette's presumed ninth year, Mathieu spent most of his visits to the de Courfeyracs' house teaching her the basics of reading. She was eager to learn and her immediate progress was rapid. She picked up the alphabet as though it was nothing but a short list of the day's duties (which she amazingly kept up in the meantime), and before long she was dictating simple passages from the books Mathieu was using to teach her.

The first thing she read was King Arthur.

"Knowing now, that this was indeed the legendary sword called 'Excalibur', Arthur tried to pull it from the stone. He tried once to no avail. He tried a second time, but still, he could not pull it out."

Cosette paused, satisfied with her slow yet steady and often mispronounced progress on the passage. Mathieu was sitting beside her, smiling, and on the other side of the hearth rug, stretched out on a sofa, was Nicolas, looking bored and haughty as usual.

"I don't see why the fellow couldn't just smash the stone with a hammer," he drawled.

"Then he wouldn't have gotten to be king," Cosette argued back. "Haven't you listened to a single word of the story?" Her forehead was wrinkled and annoyed, causing both boys to laugh in spite of the outburst. Cosette focused her eyes back on the book and launched back into her work. "Then, for the third time," she said flawlessly, "Arthur drew forth the sword…" She pronounced "sword" with a drawn-out and prominent "w".

On the sofa, Nicolas huffed and turned his eyes to the ceiling.

* * *

As November dragged on, Cosette's work became confined entirely to the indoors, and the boys stopped spending so much time in the woods behind the estate. For that matter, the change in weather also kept Mathieu Combeferre from visiting as often as before. In the last week of the month the temperature dropped a full ten degrees, and Gagny saw its first snow of the year.

When Cosette woke up to find flakes frozen onto the window one morning, she briefly panicked out of instinct. Snow had always meant shoveling and laboriously keeping the fire going all day, so naturally Cosette was beyond pleased to be handed a duster and asked to prepare bedrooms for Nicolas's brothers, Frederic and Gregoire, who would be arriving home from school for the length of the holiday, and a room for Gregoire's lady friend.

"An irritating little twit," Nicolas called the girl, Olivie.

"Their names sound well together," said Cosette, the proper grammar a result of her reading.

"How does that matter?" asked Nicolas.

"Well, have you never noticed how most couples' names just sound _right_? Like your parents - Paulette and Etienne. And then there's Lucia and Jacques, and Fleur and Roland." Cosette smiled remembering Princess Fleur from Madame Thenardier's story. And however much she had hated Lucia and Jacques Thenardier, Cosette had to admit that their individual horridness complemented each other's. She could not imagine the large, brawny Madame married to anyone other than her weedy red-faced husband.

* * *

When she was not dusting or arranging upstairs, Cosette often ended up in the kitchen during the days of early winter, scrubbing or putting away dishes. Having been under the kitchen boys' wings for the past few months, Gavroche was much more adept in speech now, so his incessant curiosity was more easily understood.

"Wha's this?" he would lisp, picking up a mouse trap from beneath the sink.

"That catches mice," Cosette would answer adoringly, placing the thing back on the floor.

"Why do we want the mice?" Gavroche would persist, and so on.

His third birthday was fast approaching (or at least the projected date - New Years Day), and with a great deal more attention than he had ever received, he was starting to look like a proper toddler. He was still lacking what one would call "baby fat", but his cheeks appeared rosier and more filled out, the product of proper nourishment. He could fully walk now without wobbling, and his brown eyes twinkled with confidence in his new skills. He called Cosette, "'Ette", or more formally, "Ettie".

"Can I?" he asked one day as he followed Cosette down the upstairs hallway while she dusted the railing.

"Sure - but not too close," she warned, handing him the duster and keeping a firm grip on his small hand as he reached to brush the feathers on the top of the stair railing.

"Hiring a helping hand, are we?" asked a voice from behind Cosette, and she turned to see Rosie standing at the top of the stairs. The woman was smiling, and her long red hair was braided into a sort of crown around the top of her head.

"Oh, he asked," Cosette was quick to say. She and Rosie watched as the little boy banged the handle of the duster on the wooden bars.

"He's sure great in the kitchen," Rosie laughed. "Makes sure we don't step on any mouse traps." She then sighed. "Reminds me of my little boy."

"Oh, Leon," Cosette thought aloud, remembering her introduction. "Away living with your brother, right?"

"Yes," said Rosie, a little puzzled that Cosette knew of her young son. "I haven't seen him in about two years, now. Benoit is taking good care of him, I know, but it must be hard, with six children of his own."

"Taking care of seven kids?" Cosette marveled. "The family I stayed with only had three, but they didn't look after Gavroche much."

"I thought Gavroche was your brother…" Rosie said, looking at the small boy who was now attempting to dangle his legs through the bars of the railing. Cosette quickly pulled him back.

"No, I just care for him," Cosette said hesitantly, afraid she had said too much. But Rosie just took one long look at the two children and smiled as Gavroche continued to drum on the railing with the duster.

* * *

Cosette could no longer picture the Thenardiers' faces. She could see them as personalities and caricatures in her mind when she slept, and she could remember the grungy appearance of pretty little Eponine at the market, but when she attempted to recall scenes from her past there and exact features of Madame during her shouting streaks, all she could come up with were smudges. This was, in honesty, the first real sign of a change between the tortured little serving girl at the inn and the thriving young mind she had become living in the de Courfeyrac house.

One evening, Angelette passed through the great room to see Nicolas and Cosette stretched out on the sofas nearest the lit fireplace, a book in the latter's hands.

"Sex sounds a bit boring, doesn't it?" inquired Cosette, motioning to the book with one finger. As her reading abilities advanced, so did her knowledge and understanding of the world, it seemed. "I mean, think of the poor octopus, having to cling to his mate for _twenty-four hours_ in order for the eggs to all go down his tentacles!" Nicolas just rolled his eyes, and shrugged.

"Good thing humans aren't octopuses, eh?"

Angelette left the room with a smile, just thinking to herself.

Cosette was happy for the first time.

* * *

There are two ideas in this chapter that I don't own. In the part where Cosette is first reading, the King Arthur thing came from _Beauty and the Beast_ (on stage - such a lovely show!), and her second reading thing came from _The Morning Gift _by Eva Ibbotson, the main character of which helped to inspire my Cosette. So yeah, I don't own those little parts.

**Lots o' love, Giz**


	8. Christmas

**I know, I've been MIA for a few weeks now, but it's totally not my fault. I've been swamped! I've been working on this chapter periodically for, like, a month, and I still don't have it exactly like I want it, but I was afraid that if I didn't get a move on with this story I would lose the incentive to write it.**

**So here's chapter eight, in which things get melodramatic. **

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Christmas**

* * *

If there was ever a big to-do in Gagny, it was, with certainty, the de Courfeyracs' Christmas party. Cosette had gotten the correct impression from their numerous fancy dinner parties that theirs' was a prominent family in the area, but never had she imagined the commotion that would surround the holiday season. From the very first of December, staff members were scrambling around the house, slinging tinsel from every railing; adorning the greenery with garland; replacing the table settings for more festive linen. The knick-knacks on the mantle were replaced with red candles and small portrayals of the birth of Jesus. Every bedroom and cot in the house was prepared, for from what Cosette had heard, they would all be filled.

"How long does this go on for?" Cosette asked Rosie one day as she was helping the woman to arrange a display of poinsettias in the foyer.

"All of the month," Rosie said with a good-humored _huff_. As she spoke she swatted Gavroche's hand away from a nativity scene on one of the tables. "You might break it, dear."

"That's a lot of work for a few weeks," Cosette observed, raising her eyebrows. "Do the guests stay for the entirety?"

"If they want to seem considerate," Rosie said. "And the distances some travel are quite far to go for just a short stay. A close childhood friend of Madame's travels from Nice."

"Where's that?" Cosette inquired, looking up with the curious eyes she usually got when asking a question.

"Whole other side of the country," answered Rosie. Cosette considered this. The farthest she had ever been from the Gagny/Monfermeil area was Paris, and that had been several years ago, before she could even remember. In fact, the only memory she had of Paris was a vague, dreamy image of her mother carrying her down beside the river, singing softly and tossing pieces of baguette at the birds which landed on the path. Thinking of her mother, Cosette began to stuff the flowers into their place with a fervent kind of jubilation.

* * *

Within the next two days, guests had already begun to arrive. Madame Paulette's brother and sister-in-law were the first to arrive, with their plump, whiny twin daughters, who were two years younger than Cosette and whose waists seemed to be twice as large. On the next day, Monsieur Etienne's elder sister, a stark, graying woman, arrived with her weathered-looking husband. In the time that followed, many more guests arrived, half of them family and half of them friends. Madame Paulette's close friend from Nice, a stout woman named Albertine, arrived on the eleventh of December, a pompous feathered hat on her head. 

It was only a short few days before Christmas when little Christian Joly arrived with his family. He looked taller than he had over the summer, but his skin was even paler and he looked as sickly as ever.

"Happy Christmas," Cosette wished him as she helped to carry his suitcase up the stairs to Nicolas's bedroom.

"Happy Christmas," he returned. "How have you been? You look much better."

Cosette smiled at the compliment. "Wonderful!" she answered. Opening the door, she saw that in her absence someone had brought up another set of suitcases; expensive bags with leather handles, all embroidered with an unfamiliar surname. Cosette knew that another boy around Nicolas's age was staying for the holiday (three cots were now set up in the bedroom - the Prouvaires were not coming), and guessed that the bags were his.

"I should have guessed Julien would be here," Christian said when he saw the bags. He had a cynical, sarcastic look on his thin face.

"Julien?" Cosette repeated vaguely as she helped arrange Christian's things around his cot (covered with newly washed sheets).

"Mm-hmm," nodded Christian. "He thinks his family owns the _world_. Don't see how Nicolas can put up with him. He's completely conceited!"

Cosette hummed in response to her friend's outburst. "Sounds… unpleasant."

After Christian had left the room, Cosette puttered around for a few moments, tidying up corners and straightening the sheets. As she was doing so, she caught sight of a book lying atop one of the suitcases. Picking it up, she flipped through a few pages of it - it was a law book. Interested to an extent, the girl sat down on the bed, her feet dangling several inches above the floor, and started reading.

Cosette did not mean to read for three quarters of an hour, but the subject was interesting, despite the fact that there were many words which she did not understand, and the going was slow as she had to sound out each word. But before she knew it, the afternoon had almost turned into evening and she was still lounging on the bed, flipping through the book. As she was doing so, she heard a noise from behind her, at the door. She had just come to a word she did not know and, assuming that it was Nicolas entering the room, she did not hesitate in asking, "What is a… 'dome-stick'?"

"Excuse me?" answered the person.

"A dome-stick. Like a dome, and a stick," Cosette repeated, but as she did so she turned around and realized that the visitor was _not _Nicolas, but instead a boy whom she did not recognize.

_Julien_, she thought, her eyes glancing over at the expensive luggage which one of the busboys had carried up earlier. His clothing most certainly fit the description Christian had given - fancy, stuffy, obviously uncomfortable. He looked about the same age as the other boys - twelve or thirteen - but a certain air about him made him seem older. His face was round and boyish, but his eyes, steely blue, appeared deep and mature; his hair was soft and blonde, like an angel's. Yet with these cherub features, that mature air intimidated Cosette as he walked over and peered at the book from behind her.

"Domestic," he said frankly, reading over her shoulder. "Means related to the family, or to the home. Now can I ask what you're doing with my book?" He was not angry, but one eyebrow was raised in a sort of sarcastic interest.

"I'm sorry," Cosette was quick to say. "I just… Uhh… _Sorry_." She pushed the book into his hands and quickly stood up from the bed, smoothing out the place where she had been sitting.

"No, quite alright," said Julien. "It was just a question." As he placed the book back with his pile of possessions, he glanced at her attire. "A maid?" he inquired.

"Yes," she answered. "My name is Cosette."

"Julien," the boy said, sticking out his hand. "Julien Enjolras. Pleased to meet you." His lofty tone insinuated that he was just saying that out of courtesy. Looking around the room, Julien added, "I came upstairs looking for Nicolas. His mother wants to speak to him."

"I haven't seen him since this morning," said Cosette. "I would imagine he's outside with Mathieu and Christian, though."

"I'll check there, then," Julien said. "Thank you, Cosette." And with a curt nod, he left the room.

_What a terribly unhappy-looking boy_, Cosette thought to herself as she watched him leave.

* * *

"Dear, are you sure you will not go to bed?" 

Cosette shook her tired head as she looked up at Rosie from her position on the kitchen floor. Gavroche was lying with his head in her lap, fast asleep, and Cosette's own eyelids were becoming heavy. But there was too much excitement for sleep to come soon. Servants were constantly coming and going from the swinging kitchen doors, dressed in their finest uniforms, elaborate dishes in their hands. Cosette herself was dressed in a black frock with a real lace petticoat beneath and an apron which did not have a single stain on it. It was the nicest thing she had worn since she was an infant.

It was Christmas Eve, and the dinner party was in full swing. Through the doors Cosette could hear the clamor of the guests and the clinking of silverware. It was very much unlike the holiday parties of the Thenardiers, and the whole thing brought a thrill to Cosette's little heart. Hours ago she had been reprieved of her duties, assured that there were enough hands without her, but she could not bring herself to head upstairs, away from the excitement.

"Everything is so _nice_ here," Cosette said to Rosie. "I could watch _all night long_."

"Madame Paulette will be sending the children off to bed soon," Rosie reminded her. "You all need your sleep. There is a big lunch tomorrow, remember?"

Cosette nodded drowsily, but still declined the offer. "Just a little bit longer," she bargained, and Rosie went away with a shrug.

"… And _that's_ what Indians are."

Hearing Nicolas's voice from through the constantly swinging door, Cosette scooted herself closer to the edge so as to get a good look at her friend. He was seated at a smaller table close to the kitchen door, along with Mathieu Combeferre, Julien Enjolras, and Christian Joly, as well as the boys' siblings and a myriad of cousins, and he appeared to have just finished telling something to a small, blonde girl whom Cosette knew to be one of Julien's younger sisters (all four of his sisters - two older and two younger - were utterly identical, with lithe pale limbs, floaty blonde hair, and crooked little smiles). The girl seemed morbidly entranced.

"They really eat… _people_?" she gasped, her bony hand clutching her napkin in horror.

"Nicolas, that would be 'cannibals' who eat each other, _not _Indians," Mathieu cut in quickly. "_Indians_ are-"

"Anastasie, you can eat your food, it's alright," another one of the sisters said to a third, demonstrating by taking a delicate bite of ham.

"Watch out, Melanie," joked a fourth sister. "It might be somebody's _brain_!"

"Felicite, he was only _joking_," Julien groaned at his youngest sister, who was still clutching her napkin. The poor girl looked as though she was about to be sick all over the dinner table.

"May we _please_ not talk about this while _some_ of us are still _eating_?" poor little Christian Joly wailed dramatically.

And with the clamor of the dinner party as a sort of lullaby, Cosette settled right down next to Gavroche, and began to fall asleep, right there on the kitchen floor.

She was startled awake only moments later when the excitement and conversation, after having reached a high point, suddenly stopped, and the room went dead silent.

Then, someone shrieked.

Cosette bolted up from her position, and almost got hit by the swinging door as a tall figure, recognizable as Rosie, rushed into the dining room in a panic. The air was once more filled with noise - raised voices, barked orders, the moving of chairs - but something was obviously wrong. Cosette got to her feet and leaned until she could see out of the door, which was being held open by a gaggle of curious kitchen girls. Seemingly the entire dinner party was gathered around the head of the large family table, where Madame and Monsieur de Courfeyrac sat…

"Mother? Mother!" Through the whirlwind of activity, Cosette still managed to hear Nicolas's voice, more high-pitched and distressed than she had ever heard it. Then, a small, brunette bullet of a boy darted in front of her and made its way into the throng around the table, pushing towards the center.

"Ah, _mon Dieu_!" wailed one kitchen girl - Edwige - as she turned away from the door and put her hands to her temples.

"Cosette?" Gavroche lisped, looking around with sleepy eyes. "Wha's going on?" Cosette didn't answer him. Instead, she turned towards the door and tried her hardest to see through the crowd. Peering around the legs of some of the taller girls, she could make out the figure of Monsieur Etienne rising from his chair to help a couple of other guests move his wife's own chair away from the table, so he could get to Paulette. The mistress of the estate was draped limply over one side of her chair, her eyes wide and glazed.

Everything suddenly made grave sense.

"Mother!" Cosette watched in shock as the boy made another futile attempt to reach the head of the table, but as he did so he was pulled back by the strong arms of Rosie. Even from a distance Cosette could see the panicked tears in his grey eyes, and the sight of his struggling brought back a distant memory of herself as a small child, standing on a dirt road in Monfermeil, clinging to Madame Thenardier's grubby skirts and watching her mother's weary but graceful figure leave in tears.

Cosette had been ready for almost anything when she left the grungy inn, but the one thing she had not been expecting was tragedy. For such a blow to strike this family, seemingly a pack of angels in comparison to the Thenardiers, was unimaginable. As the girl watched a group of men lift Madame Paulette, white as a sheet and completely motionless, from the chair, she felt a pang of harsh reality in her gut - the rough breaking of an illusion.

"Cosette?" demanded Gavroche, tugging on Cosette's skirts. Seeing the confused, pleading look in the little boy's eyes, Cosette bent down to her knees and pulled him close to her chest, sinking down into her obscure little corner. Somewhere, a clock struck midnight.

"Merry Christmas," Cosette whispered.

* * *

**Well, anyone who knows me should have seen this coming from a mile. Review please!**


	9. A Strange Goodbye

**A fairly short more-or-less-filler chapter. I still don't own _Les Mis_. **

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**Chapter Nine: A Strange Goodbye**

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Nicolas was leaving. He was going away to an expensive school which was named in history books and had turrets - or at least it did in the charcoal interpretation Cosette had seen. Monsieur de Courfeyrac said that the purpose was to finish his son's basic education before he went off to the university in Paris. Everyone knew, however, that the stone-faced man just wanted his son out of the house. 

The decision was quick and very final. Only two days after Christmas, Nicolas's private tutor was formally dismissed. Four days later the bags were already being packed. 

Cosette did not see her friend very much during the days following the tragedy on Christmas Eve. It had been chaos both above and below stairs - with the guests all leaving early, Cosette was rushing from room to room, pulling off sheets to hand to the laundry girls and folding up cots. The Christmas decorations, usually left out at least until New Years, were cleared away; they would have to be gone for the funeral. 

The service was carried out two days before Nicolas's date of departure, and every occupant of the estate was in a contagious black mood. Monsieur Etienne did not emerge from his study until it was time to greet guests, and even then he did not say a word. There was a glazed look to his eyes, usually so focused and cold. 

Nicolas seemed to have taken upon himself the angry gloom which his emotionless father lacked, however. Just in the past few days he had kicked over several chairs, gotten into a shouting match with Rosie over his newly strict bedtime, and cursed while talking to young Anastasie Enjolras (she was quite fond of him and seemed to find it completely necessary to make a million attempts to comfort him, despite his objection), who quickly told her mother. The boy had not even said goodbyes to his friends when their families pulled them home early. 

On the morning of the service, Nicolas disappeared into the woods behind the estate and did not turn up despite Angelette's incessant calling. The snow was deep, and she was in the middle of cooking, however, so she ordered a weary and wide-eyed Cosette to bundle up and search for the boy. 

The backyard looked entirely different in the freezing weather, and as Cosette had not been outside in what seemed like weeks, it was a shock to see the trees entirely devoid of leaves and the flower beds covered in deep, sticky snow. The display did seem to fit the mood, though - bleak, dreary, desolate. It was as though the flora sensed the absence of cheery, exuberant Paulette de Courfeyrac, and refused to show itself. 

"Nicolas?" Cosette called loudly as soon as she reached the gate at the edge of the dark woods. Her nose ached from the cold air, and she had to wipe it several times as she peered through the ghostly trees, towards the creek. "_Nicolas_?" 

There was no answer, so Cosette opened up the gate and trekked a bit farther into the forest, her feet crunching on the snow. Slowly and carefully she made her way towards the frozen creek. "Nico_las_?" 

"Hey?" 

Cosette jumped almost a foot in the air at the sound of the voice, coming from right beside her. She looked down and saw Nicolas, propped up against a tree, a small collection of stones in his palm. He threw one at the creek and they both watched as it sank through the thin layer of ice and disappeared into the black. 

"Is this where you've been?" Cosette asked. "We've been looking for you for an hour." 

"I know," he answered. "I heard Angelette calling my name." 

"Then why didn't you come?" Cosette furrowed her brow. 

"I'm perfectly fine out here." There was an eerily casual tone to Nicolas's voice - a caricature of relaxation. 

Cosette rubbed her goose-pimpled arms and breathed out heavily, creating a little white cloud in front of her face. "Well, the service starts in an hour," she said quietly. "I think you should come inside and start getting ready."

"I'm not going," Nicolas said with a quick shake of his head. 

"You're what?" Cosette puzzled. Nicolas repeated himself. 

"The service'll just be a bunch of old coots crying into their sleeves and hugging me," he went on casually. "I would rather sit out here." He did not make eye contact - if he had, Cosette might have caught the glimmer of one small tear in his eye. 

"But…" Cosette stammered, breathing warm air onto her bare hands. "Your father will be angry if you don't show up, Nicolas." 

"My father," Nicolas replied, throwing another rock into the icy water, "doesn't _care_. Now go back inside before you get sick from this weather, and tell Angelette you couldn't find me." With those final words, Nicolas stood up from the ground, bowed mockingly to Cosette, and then stepped gingerly across the stones in the stream. His feet crunched on the snow as he reached the other side and headed off into the woods, not looking back at the cold little servant girl by the water's edge. 

"Alright?" Cosette called out to no one. She wiped a bit of snow off of her eyelash, and headed back towards the fence. 

Once she reached the kitchen, she carried out Nicolas's wishes and told Angelette that she had not been able to find the boy in fifteen minutes of calling his name. The woman rolled her eyes and went back to work, muttering under her breath. 

That was the last time Cosette saw Nicolas for several months. The next day, she was kept busy below stairs from dawn until dusk, and the day after that, Nicolas departed by carriage for school. 

The house became eerily calm, with only a seldom-seen, moody Monsieur de Courfeyrac and a gloomy staff occupying the dark, endless hallways. It stayed this way for some time, and thus went the next stage of Cosette's life. 

* * *

**Read and review!**

**It's almost Spring Break - when I get back I'll FINALLY have some free time for writing (and catching up on school work :P). **

**Love, Giz**


	10. Of Changes

I know that this chapter is a little weird, don't kill me for doing what I decided to go ahead and do with it - I'll explain at the end. For now, I do not own _Les Miserables._

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**Chapter Ten: Of Changes**

_

* * *

_

Four years later…

* * *

_One two three; one two three; one two-_

"You're about to spill the water, Ettie."

It took a couple of moments for Cosette to snap out of her reverie; when she did, she looked down and saw Gavroche kneeling on the wood floor, steadying the bucket of filthy water. Embarrassed, she dipped her mop into the liquid and flopped it lazily back on the floor. As she did so, however, she continued to tap her feet in rhythm to a waltz.

"What is it that has you in such a good mood?" Gavroche half-snorted, his speech slurred by an impending yawn. It was seven thirty in the morning, and in the half-light of the upstairs hall the seven-year-old boy was still only partly awake.

"I had a dream last night," Cosette answered cheerily. "A dream about Mama." She said it furtively, as though it were a sort of secret between the two of them. As she did so her round, rosy face turned childish and smug.

Gavroche rolled his eyes and went back to towel-drying the wet floor, moving gingerly so as not to put pressure on his bruised knees. This conversation had been going on for years between Gavroche and his "sister". Cosette would have some "prophetic" dream about her mother, wake up in a little bubble of optimism, and then gush about her ideas to Gavroche for the entirety of the morning as they scrubbed and mopped and dusted together. It was touching, but it had gotten old a long time ago.

"Mama looked so beautiful," Cosette went on without invitation. "So pretty…" She smiled and continued mopping with a little dance in her step. The truth was, Cosette was starting to look more and more like her mother every day, though she had no way of knowing this. At almost fourteen, she had grown nearly to her full height, with lithe limbs and a narrow torso. Her hair, no longer chopped and thin, had grown nearly to her waist; golden and full, it was now pulled back into a strict bun, with a few unruly pieces springing out from underneath the hairnet. While her skin was still freckled and dry from her childhood, she had somehow slipped past the blemishes which accompany the transition she had so recently made. Her face remained clear and rosy, with a childish and playful light still in her wide grey eyes.

Gavroche could no longer easily pass as her brother. He had inherited nearly every Thenardier trait - the small turned-up nose, the oversized ears, the soft mousy hair. His frame was exceedingly small, giving him the appearance of a skinny toddler who had somehow acquired the maturity and abilities of a seven-year-old. At the moment, one of his front baby teeth was gone.

"Mmm-hmm," Gavroche murmured. A mirthful smile appeared on his face. "You sure this mood has nothing to do with the return of a certain someone this afternoon?…" He averted his eyes, looking back down at the floor, but did not miss the expression of shock that appeared on his sister's face and soon diminished into playful annoyance.

"'Vroche," Cosette started, a scowl on her face, but she truly had nothing to say. A small blush appeared on her face as she went back to work. _Nicolas_…

"Nicolas!"

Cosette and Gavroche looked up sharply at the sound of Angelette's bawdy voice from the front hall. "Nicolas?" Cosette whispered to herself. But he was not due in until almost three…

"Ettie," Gavroche yelped as the girl took off down the hall, leaving her mop to fall to the floor in a clatter. Cosette did not hear him - she had already reached the main upstairs hall, which overlooked the foyer, and she could hear Angelette rambling over something or another involving a tattered coat…

"I'm fine, Angelette, I promise," came a light-hearted voice. "The weather is almost too warm for a coat, anyways."

Cosette could not help but break out into a smile as she came into view of the party in the foyer, and laid her eyes upon her childhood friend for the first time in almost a year. Nicolas had not returned home many times in the past four years - the loss of his mother and the secluded habits of his father made visits for holidays almost worthless. As for the times he had come back, Cosette always seemed to be kept busy below stairs. Most of the chances she had to see him were just in passing, while she was carrying sheets down the hallway or heading upstairs to dust.

Despite the absence of Madame de Courfeyrac and the neglect of her husband, the staff of the estate was worked even harder than before. It had much to do with the release of many maids and butlers who were no longer needed once the days of Madame Paulette's splendid dinner parties were over for good. All of the regular chores still had to be performed, however - if Etienne de Courfeyrac did not care about the house, Angelette sure did. The workdays which once allowed the occasional afternoon off became endless and tiring as the remaining maids took over the duties of those who were no longer on the staff. Besides dusting the empty upstairs rooms and polishing the banisters, Cosette also found herself tending to the flowers, scrubbing the occasional pot in the kitchen, and, with the help of Gavroche, washing the floors of the endless hallways in the mansion. Gavroche himself had become a permanent fixture by his sister's side in the housework. He followed her along like a shadow and checked to see if she had missed any dust on Madame's vases.

Nicolas was sixteen now, and he looked it, if not a bit older. He had grown a head and a half taller than he had been at age eleven, or so it seemed. His face, thin and obviously still freckled, even from a distance, retained the fox-like shape it had held as a child, but with one eyebrow arched and his mouth molded into a smirk, he seemed to have a permanent expression of haughty boredom. The thin light brown hair from his childhood which had hung so lazily into his eyes was now much longer, perhaps a little darker, and was tied back with a ribbon. A few pieces still made their way into his grey eyes.

Cosette did not immediately take notice of the figure standing beside him, slumped and inconspicuous, but when she did she could not hold in a small yelp of joy. Mathieu Combeferre! She had not seen or so much as heard from him in ages! He looked very much the same after all these years, albeit more mature. His curly auburn hair was still just as unruly, and the same telltale spectacles were perched on his small nose. He was not nearly as tall as Nicolas… nor as handsome, Cosette couldn't help but think.

"Ettie," Gavroche said in a mock-chastising voice as he appeared behind the girl. The sound of the greeting reached the ears of those below in the foyer, and Nicolas redirected his attention. When he did so, his eyes went wide with surprise.

"Cosette, you pretty little thing, is that really you?" He tipped his hat back, as though to see better. A wide grin appeared on his face.

Blushing, Cosette smiled back and said, "It's nice to see you again, Nicolas." She curtsied clumsily and bobbed her head at Mathieu. "And you as well, Mathieu," she added.

"My, you've grown up, my little rebel," joked Nicolas, still astounded, as he began to mount the stairs. He greeted the young maid with a friendly pat on the back, causing Cosette to blush again. When he had finished she absently fingered the place where he had touched her.

"Ah, and Gavroche!" Nicolas exclaimed. "I can hardly believe my own eyes! I must have been gone longer than I thought!"

Mathieu approached Cosette with more gentility. "It is _very_ nice to see you again, _mademoiselle_," he said with a kind smile. "You have grown up into quite the lady."

Cosette giggled and bobbed her head again out of habit. "_Merci, _Monsieur Combeferre."

"How has life here been treating you?" Mathieu asked.

"Oh, wonderfully!" Cosette responded enthusiastically. "It is very quiet, but I never tire of this house."

"Still looking around for traces of the Sun King?" Nicolas jested, referring back to the girl's former insistence that the de Courfeyrac estate was indeed a palace belonging to royalty.

Before Cosette could answer, a call from the foyer interrupted the conversation.

"Nicolas," Angelette shouted, having just reentered from the direction of the greatroom. "Your father would like to speak to you, as soon as you have settled down."

"I'll be right there," answered Nicolas with a disgruntled sigh reminiscent of his spoiled child self. He tipped his hat once more to Cosette before heading off towards his father's room.

Once he was gone, Cosette turned to Mathieu and asked, "Why have you two returned here? Are you staying?"

Mathieu was quick to answer. "For the remainder of the spring and summer. Nicolas has finished his schooling, and is ready to go off to the university in Paris. I finished last year, but we decided to move to Paris together. I took the months off to raise enough money to pay for my own things once I make the move."

Cosette nodded in understanding. "And you have returned here instead of to your own home because…" It was a question.

"I do not exactly see eye-to-eye with my father these days," Mathieu said. His voice was quieter, and his brown eyes got a distant look to them for just a moment.

_His father won't pay for his schooling_, Cosette thought to herself, remembering what he had said about raising money before he left home. "Politics?" she guessed. Mathieu shrugged.

"Most everything." There was a long silence in which Gavroche excused himself to continue mopping.

"Cos_ette_!" came a sudden cry from down the hall. Remembering her duties, Cosette wished her friend well once more before hurrying off again, a little smile on her face.

"Very nice to see you," Mathieu repeated in an undertone as he watched her leave.

* * *

**Okay, explanation - I tried to write some of the time between Nicolas's leaving and his return, but I got so BORED with it, and it was turning out so dull that I just decided to jump ahead. Belive me, you didn't miss anything. I just decided to move a little faster for once. The story was starting to drag.**

**Review, please! The next chapter might be a while in the making, but I promise it's coming!**


	11. A Proposition

**I can't believe I've gone over a month without updating! You must understand, my life has been crazy with schoolwork and three plays going on. But now I'm finished with AP US History forever, so my school year is pretty much over. **

**I know this chapter seems a little rushed, and I'll probably have a couple of people telling me "That would never happen!" But I have this story carefully planned out. I know what I'm doing. **

**Enjoy. Oh, and I don't own _Les Miserables_. **

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**Chapter Eleven: A Proposition**

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Within two days of the boys' arrival, the estate seemed to have gained back a little of its former lively air. It was like a garden finally breaking into a belated bloom; a black-and-white drawing filled in with pleasant color. The four years of quiet and solemnity had taken a toll on the estate and its staff, but at last the smiles on the faces of the maids and the singing of tavern songs in the kitchen began to return, much to Cosette's joy.

One warm evening towards the end of May, Cosette was lying sprawled-out on her bed, her bare feet waving around lazily and her nose stuck in a book of poetry, when there was a knock on her door. "Cosette," said Edwige, an older kitchen girl with black hair and a long nose. "You are wanted outside, in the garden."

Cosette tied back her hair with a white ribbon and jammed her feet into the brown shoes she wore to work outside. Shoving her "borrowed" poetry book (no one used the library except for her, anyways, so it didn't quite matter) beneath her pillow, Cosette headed out the door and down the servants hallway until she got to the side door that led into the garden. There, she was greeted not with a trowel and a watering can as she had expected, but with a place neatly set for her at the patio table, where Nicolas and Mathieu were sipping lemonade.

"Bring back old memories?" Nicolas said with a smile as Mathieu poured some lemonade from the sweating pitcher into a third glass. Cosette took a seat and smiled, nodding.

"Just like when we were kids," she noted. "Only we're older now. And Jehan isn't with us…" She frowned a little at this last comment.

"He's still in Paris," Mathieu said. "Haven't spoken to him since he left. Perhaps we should look him up when we head there in the fall."

Cosette nodded again and sipped from her lemonade glass. Meanwhile, Nicolas had opened his mouth to say something.

"Speaking of Paris," he started slowly, "there's something I would like to discuss with you, Cosette."

"Hmm?" she responded, her closed mouth round with unswallowed lemonade. She slightly resembled a fish and the boys smiled.

"You see, a couple of summers ago, I went to Paris to visit a friend's family rather than come home. It was right after… you know? I just wanted to get away." He took another swig of lemonade, and Cosette wondered where he was going with his story. "Anyway, while I was there I met a woman who worked at a bistro where we ate dinner one night. She was about in her thirties, I suppose, and she looked a lot like you. I mean, in the face, and she had the same hair and everything, only it was a little gray…"

"What do you mean to say?" Cosette felt a little nervous flutter in her stomach.

"I didn't talk to her, actually, but she just made me think of you, and of how you were always so concerned with finding your mother. And I thought, What if she's in Paris somewhere? I mean a lot of people live in the city. Yes, it would be hard to find someone whose name you didn't even know, but-"

"Nic?" Mathieu said in a warning voice, motioning to his friend that he should get to the point of his story.

"Sorry," Nicolas said. "What I mean to say is, would you like to move to Paris with us?"

The question caught Cosette off guard. Go to Paris? Possibly find her mother? She was tempted to answer "Yes" without hesitation, but something nagged her. Paris was _huge_! Did she even have a chance? _Well, more of one than I have sitting around here in Gagny_, she thought.

"I suppose I - what about Gavroche?" Her mind suddenly changed directions - she would be giving up a lot by moving away. Certainly Gavroche would not be able to come along, and what of her plan to stay put in case her mother came looking in the area for her?

"Rosie and Angelette and the other servants will be able to care for him," Mathieu said calmly. "You wouldn't have to worry. But if you don't want to come, it's alright."

Nicolas scratched his ear and did not make eye contact.

"I don't know…" Cosette pondered out loud. So Nicolas had seen a woman who bore resemblance to Cosette - there were _millions_ of people in Paris, and there was no _tell_ing how many of them were middle-height, thirty-year-old women with gray-blonde hair.

But then again, what if she really was there?

"Alright, I'll go with you," Cosette answered bluntly before she could stop herself again with another doubt. Gavroche would be safe at home with Rosie and Angelette, so there was nothing to worry about with him. As for Paris, even if her mother was not there Cosette had been wanting to visit the city ever since she was a child.

"Really? I mean, great!" Nicolas broke into a relieved grin and relaxed in his chair, brushing his light brown hair out of his eyes with one hand.

Cosette smiled to herself and finished the very last of her drink. She was apprehensive about the move to Paris, but suddenly so many more opportunities opened up in her mind. Who knows? Perhaps her mother _was _out there somewhere.

* * *

"I do believe I'm as tall as the old fort," Nicolas said with a wide yawn. He reached up and touched the top of the bent, withering willow tree with ease. The ground was soggy with rainwater, and Cosette had to step with caution to avoid any mud; when she touched one of the long whip-like leaves it deposited several drops of water onto her hand.

"Almost," commented Mathieu, who was two years older and a good two inches shorter than his best friend. He touched Cosette's shoulder to steer her away from a well-hidden patch of mud at her feet.

The "battlefield" from the group's childhood games of War had been invaded not by enemy troops but by weeds and vines that covered the neglected area. The gardening staff had not taken the time to clear the opening down by the fence, as it was no longer used after Nicolas's departure. Even the white fence was almost hidden by foliage that had taken over the area.

Cosette kicked around the weeds at the base of the gate. A flying insect objected and buzzed off angrily. "It's amazing to think that it's only been four years since you found me right here, a strange little runaway girl." She smiled fondly.

"How things have changed," Mathieu remarked.

Cosette hummed in agreement. She swatted a gnat away from her face as she unlatched the gate leading into the woods. The forest had not changed much, she saw. Some trees were suffering decay and there were little mushrooms sprouting up from the wet ground, but the terrain was familiar. She could see the stream way back through the myriad of trees.

"Ah," she commented, heading towards it. "My 'watery grave'."

Nicolas chuckled. "Yes, changes, but that's not to say you aren't still a little odd." He motioned to her bare feet below the hem of her grey dress.

"No need to dirty up my only outdoors shoes," she explained. "The insides are not easy to clean." Then, waving off his amused expression, she pondered aloud, "I wonder if they ever actually looked for me?"

Mathieu and Nicolas exchanged expressions. What did one say to this?

In accordance with the rest of the woods, the stream had not changed, save for a slight widening. The ground around it formed a muddy slope down to the water, about a foot in height.

"How did Gavroche take your news?" Mathieu asked conversationally, referring to the decision about moving to Paris.

Cosette shrugged her shoulders and looked up at the canopy of trees. "I honestly don't know. He didn't say much after I told him." She wandered a little bit closer to the creek and kicked some of the loose mud around with her bare foot. "We haven't been apart since I went to live with the Thenardiers. But I told him that if I do find my mother, we'll both go live with her and everything will be just fine after that. And I _am_ going to find her one day."

Nicolas was just about to say something (he wasn't quite sure what) when at that moment the mud Cosette had been kicking at gave way, and the petite girl lost her footing and tumbled sideways into the creek. She let out a yelp as the cool water splashed up into her face. Upon instinct, Nicolas and Mathieu rushed to her assistance, but the brief panic quickly resolved into relief as they all noticed that the creek only came up to the girl's waist once she rose to her feet. Her dress was clinging, soaked, to her shoulders and arms, and her blonde hair was plastered to her face. It looked darker with the creek water running through it. A large, surprised grin on her face, Cosette began making her move towards the bank, rubbing at her chilled arms as she went. But as she did so, the current made the skirt of her dress billow up, revealing her stockings all the way up to her mid-thigh through the clear water. With another yelp of shock and giddiness, she pushed the floaty fabric back down over her legs. Mathieu blushed.

"Here," said Nicolas, half-laughing as he kneeled down at the water's edge and extended a hand to the girl. Cosette gripped it hard.

And out of childish playfulness, she pulled him into the water right beside her.

Nicolas, being two years older and several inches taller than Cosette, made a much larger splash. On top of this, he was pulled in face-first, so when he landed in the cool, clear water it was with his long legs flailing behind him and a comical expression on his freckled face. It took him a moment to get his footing and come up for air, but as soon as he did he took a handful of water and splashed it up into Cosette's face. The girl giggled and spluttered and wiped the droplets off of her eyelashes before returning the action.

"_Mon Dieu_," Mathieu laughed. "You two are a sight to see."

The cool water was a relief from the stifling June air, despite the goose pimples rising up on Cosette's arms. Nicolas pulled himself out of the creek first before reaching down to help Cosette, who was still struggling to keep her dress down over her legs. As she eased herself up onto the bank with Nicolas's support, she felt his fingers brush against the small of her back. They felt warm through the clinging fabric of her dress, and she felt a shiver go up her spine.

Seeing the blush on Cosette's face, Nicolas quickly removed his fingers with a mumbled apology. He did not meet her eyes for the rest of the walk back up to the house.

Cosette wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

* * *

**Review please. I promise, I won't vanish for another month. It might be a week or two, but most certainly not four. **


	12. Paris

**I apologize for the wait, but I am now done with the three shows I was in (I'm only in one now), I'm done with one camp, I've taken the SAT, and, above all, school's over for good. I still have loads to do this summer, but a huge chunk is out of the way. Right now I'm suffering from the removal of my wisdom teeth, which has been quite the ordeal. Ugh. Terrible. But it has given me more time to put into what I really want to do: sleep, watch DVDs, and write. **

**This chapter isn't the best. It moves quick and the ending sucks, but it was the best I could manage. I hate transition chapters. **

**I do not own _Les Mis_. **

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Paris**

* * *

The week of departure came both slower and quicker than Cosette had expected. Anticipation of the trip seemed to control her life for the last month of the summer as she consumed books about the city and contemplated her goodbyes. But as she thought more and more about things, her excitement grew in place of her initial anxiety.

"I'm going to see Notre Dame, Gavroche! _Notre Dame_!" Cosette held up the book and pointed with one finger to the artist's depiction of the grand building. She knew Gavroche was tired of hearing her talk of the trip - the look on his face presently was only further proof.

"That's really interesting," he said quietly from where he sat on the edge of her bed, taking off his shoes. While his sister was going off to find adventure, Gavroche was remaining to work - it didn't seem fair. Still, he knew he could not go even if he were to ask. Cosette had only been allowed to leave on the premises that she had never been officially employed to begin with. She had been invited to live with the de Courfeyracs so that she would not go wandering off dangerously. Now, she was fourteen and had an opportunity to finish what she had set out to do almost six years ago. At first Angelette had expressed concerns as to Cosette and Nicolas living together away from home, but her fears quelled when she passed by Cosette's room one night and saw her talking softly to a bird outside her window, a book on architecture tucked underneath one skinny arm. Cosette was just not the type of girl to worry about, Angelette reasoned.

On the morning that they were to leave, Cosette was out of bed and clothed in her best dress before the sun even rose. Rosie found her at eight o' clock pacing her room and braiding her long hair for the tenth time. Her things were packed neatly in a borrowed suitcase, and set out by the door. Rosie knew without asking that it was filled with just a few personal belongings and at least seven or eight books.

"All set?" Rosie asked with a smile. Cosette, who had been humming to herself as she paced, stopped, surprised at having not seen her older friend in the doorway.

"Oh, yes m'am," she nodded. Scurrying over to the bed, she grabbed one last book which had been lying atop the mattress. It was a book of poetry with a cheery painting of red and yellow flowers on the front. "For the trip there," Cosette explained upon seeing Rosie's chuckle.

Arriving in the foyer, Cosette looked around in anticipation. Where was Gavroche? When she inquired this of Rosie, the woman shrugged and bit her lip. "He was not in the kitchen last I checked. I did see him dart outside this morning."

Cosette furrowed her brow and started to make a beeline for the back door, but a voice from behind caught her before she had made it very far.

"Cosette," Mathieu called. "Are you ready?"

"Almost," the girl answered. "Have you seen my brother?"

"I can't say I have," Mathieu replied with a shrug. "Would you like me to help-"

"Alright already! We're hurrying!" Nicolas suddenly appeared in the front entrance, shouting over his shoulder. "Driver's getting fussy. We'd better hurry up. You all set?" Nicolas grabbed Cosette's bag without another word.

"But Gavroche-"

Cosette heard the driver yell a couple of choice words from the waiting carriage. "No time," said Nicolas. "Don't worry, my dearest rebel, you'll see him at Christmas. Besides, I think you've squeezed him quite enough in the past week. I promise, you can write as soon as we get there." He gave her a brief smile and, her bag in his hand, hurried out the front door, shouting all the while at the carriage driver.

* * *

For the first hour of the carriage ride, Cosette, though still concerned with the whereabouts of her brother, remained transfixed by the passing scenery outside of the window. She had been born in Paris, of course, but all of her life that she could remember had been in Monfermeil or Gagny. Even the smaller details of Monfermeil were fading. Now, she was enthralled by the sight of the sprawling fields and the open sky which she had only glimpsed on her outings to the market with Angelette.

When the sky grew overcast and the scenery became repetitive, Cosette turned her attention back inside and grabbed for her poetry book, which was set on the seat between she and Mathieu. Mathieu had fallen asleep, so it seemed, with his chin resting against his chest. Across the cabin, Nicolas stared at his hands with moody eyes. Something was wrong with him this morning, Cosette noted as she opened her book and tried to focus on the large, loopy print of the poems. Even his smile to her before they left had been forced.

"Is it his father again?" Cosette asked Mathieu when they stopped for lunch at a shabby tavern in Champigny. Nicolas was in another argument with the driver.

"Excuse me?" Mathieu was puzzled as he looked over at the girl. Her head was tilted down in secrecy, but her snub nose and bright, concerned eyes ruined the somber effect.

"Nicolas, I mean," Cosette corrected herself. "He's unhappy. Is it something having to do with his father?" She glanced over to where the boy in question had disappeared into the building.

"I haven't a clue what goes on between them," Mathieu said honestly. "Nicolas doesn't care to talk about it, so I don't ask. But I would assume it's the same old argument they've been having for years."

"What is that?"

"You knew Monsieur Etienne was a banker, right? Well, so was his father, and his grandfather - a sort of family heritage. And of course, he wants nothing more than for Nicolas to take up the trade, since Frederic and Edgard have chosen different paths." Frederic and Edgard were Nicolas's older brothers - Cosette had discussed medicine with Frederic at Christmas one year, but she had yet to meet the eldest de Courfeyrac boy.

Cosette could not imagine Nicolas inheriting his father's business. Monsieur Etienne wore the straight, sober face of a businessman, but Nicolas was far too youthful and high spirited. Then again, Cosette did not know very much about banking or about inheritance. Perhaps it was all different. Briefly she imagine Gavroche inheriting the Thenardier inn back in Monfermeil, stomping around and shouting orders just like his father. But then thinking of Gavroche made Cosette miss him, and she remained silent through the rest of the stop.

* * *

It started raining no more than ten minutes into the next part of the trip, and by the time evening fell it had gotten so bad that the poor sopping wet horse refused to take another step. Afraid of getting the wheels stuck in the rapidly forming mud, the driver pulled off the road at the next inn, near Creteil. The inn was run by a surly woman with wild grey hair and working boots, who courteously spared an extra room so that Cosette could sleep by herself. The rooms were not nice, but the walls were solid and the beds were soft, and Cosette could not complain about the stew and warm bread they were served at dinnertime.

The group settled into their rooms not long past nine. Cosette was just changing out of her dress when she noticed the absence of her little poetry book from the trip there, which she had been planning on reading before she slept. Rubbing her aching neck muscles, Cosette re-buttoned her dress and shoved her feet back into her shoes before slipping out of the bedroom door and down the dark hallway to the creaky stairs. The kitchen and the area around the fireplace were still abuzz with laughter and conversation amongst the guests, some of whom waved to or whistled at Cosette as she passed through, making her way to the front door. She stifled a yawn as she pulled the neckline of her dress closer to her collarbone.

Nicolas was outside. He was huddled underneath the shelter of the front overhang, using one hand to shield a cigarette from the continuous drizzle. When he saw Cosette, he stamped out the thing on a small box he held in his other hand and fumbled to shove the package back into his waistcoat pocket.

"Hello," Cosette said hesitantly. She nearly choked on the smoke still in the air, but for the sake of Nicolas's conscience she stifled the unpleased expression creeping onto her face. "Nice night, isn't it?" She could not hide the anxiety in her voice, however. She had not been expecting to find her friend out here, and had most certainly not been expecting to find him as she had.

"I'm sorry," Nicolas muttered, motioning to his pocket.

Cosette waved it off, and silence ensued. Finally, it was broken by Cosette's voice, quiet and slow.  
"Is something wrong?" she asked slowly. "You've hardly said a thing the whole way here, and I can't help noticing that something's bothering you. Mathieu's seen it to. Is it… is it your father?" Cosette knew that Etienne de Courfeyrac was a sensitive subject to his youngest son, so she was reluctant to bring him into the conversation. Seeing the cringe on Nicolas's face, she immediately regretted her words.

"I don't want to talk about it now," he responded reasonably. Then, to Cosette's surprise, he reached into his pocket, took out the cigarette box, and tossed it with one powerful movement into the darkness of the front courtyard. "But everything will be alright when we reach Paris. It'll be a new start, alright?"

"Alright." Cosette looked up at Nicolas's face. He seemed far too pensive for his usual self, and it made Cosette uncomfortable, as though she was talking to a complete stranger. But out of compassion and a dazed friendliness she reached out and wrapped her thin arm around her friend's waist (for she could not reach his shoulder), and rested her head against his arm. A thoughtful Nicolas was at least better than a brooding Nicolas.

The two went back into the inn after several more minutes of silent thought, the poetry book entirely forgotten.

* * *

The sky was still cloudy the next morning, and the air smelled of rain. Hoping to travel fast enough to reach Paris before another storm broke out, the group wolfed down breakfast, loaded their luggage back into the carriage, and set off once more down the road. Nicolas seemed to be in a better mindset today, and he actually cracked a joke or two as Cosette watched the countryside pass by on either side of the carriage. Mathieu was leafing through a large book with words Cosette did not understand. Through inquiry she discovered that he was studying Latin, and for the remainder of the trip she read over his shoulder while Nicolas slept soundly with his face pressed comically up against the glass. The growing separation from his father was ever improving his mood.

At last, they reached Paris.

"Jesus Christ!" Cosette exclaimed as they passed through the wall of the city and into the bustling streets of the city outskirts. They were only in the very farthest reaches of the city, but already there were more people hurrying about than Cosette had seen in her entire life. Despite the boisterous conversations between Nicolas and the driver, and the prospect of the Latin book still propped beside her seat, Cosette's eyes were glued to her surroundings. As they traveled farther into the city and the buildings became larger and more grand, and her eyes grew larger and larger until it seemed they could grow no more.

"A lot compared to Gagny, isn't it?" asked Mathieu with a grin on his face.

"Oh, I've never seen so many people!" Cosette chirped as an answer.

Not all of the sights were marvelous, however. As they slowed to round a corner, Cosette caught sight of a group of children in rags sitting with their feet in a puddle by the side of the road. They were greedily pulling pieces off of a large slab of bread. Not too far down the street a gaunt woman with bare feet held a squalling baby to her chest; the poor child seemed no larger than a bunch of grapes. Cosette was coming to realize that with great wealth came great poverty.

As they passed through the city, Cosette could hardly sit still. There was the Pantheon, the Seine, and (she couldn't help but shout when she saw it) _Notre Dame! _As the carriage crossed the bridge to the other side of the river where Monsieur de Courfeyrac's abandoned flat was, Cosette was dazzled by the shimmering light reflected off of the cathedral's windows. "It's so beautiful!" she declared breathily.

Another few blocks passed, and Monsieur de Courfeyrac's flat came into view. It was a tall, old building with a grand front entrance and what seemed like a million tall windows, decorated with colorful flower boxes. As the trio stepped out of the carriage and took their luggage from the back of the vehicle, Nicolas smiled and said, "Welcome home, little rebel!" Cosette broke into a grin. This _was_ home now. This grand building _was _home, and her own at that! She didn't have to clean it, or scrub the floors, or change the sheets…

Nicolas led the way through the front door and passed the stark concierge, who greeted them plainly, and up the sweeping front staircase to a dark, wallpapered landing that housed another plainer staircase that led even farther up. On this landing were two doors. Nicolas took out a key and opened up the one labeled "3".

"Each floor is divided into two flats; half of this level is ours, and the other half belongs to Madame Bellerose. She has a lot of parties, so expect the hall to often smell strongly of wine." Cosette was hardly listening to him, however. Immediately upon entering she dropped her bag at the front door (Mathieu picked it up) and hurried off down the hallway that appeared before her. There was a lovely salon, with a rug and a piano… there was a bedroom - no, _two_ - with a grand poster bed. There was a lovely little kitchen with a balcony overlooking the street, and another balcony in the back which overlooked a garden ("Shared by the whole building," said Nicolas. "You can go down there whenever you like.").

Cosette could not stop smiling as she took her bag from Mathieu and entered the little bedroom which overlooked the garden and began to unpack her things, placing them in the drawers of the grand armoire that sat in the corner. The elegant mirror was dusty and the blanket on the bed felt stiff and unused, but the room was beautiful, even more so because it was _hers_. She had never been able to claim something so wonderful in her life!

"Where did Mathieu go?" Cosette asked some time later as she emerged from her room, her traveling coat and shoes put away and her dirty-blonde plaits undone so that they cascaded untidily down her shoulders. Nicolas was just arranging his own belongings in the room directly across the hall; his window overlooked the busy street below.

"He has a room over near the University," the boy explained. "You know, across the river." Nicolas sat down on his bed and stretched his long legs out in front of him. "Say, once the sun comes out, why don't we take a nice walk down to the Latin Quarter? I think you'll like it."

Cosette smiled and obliged, and when she went back to her room she did a little dance in front of her mirror, a wide smile on her face. Whatever had originally held her back from coming with the boys to Paris was gone now, and she had a distinct feeling that another phase of her life was beginning; something more important than she had known before.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it. Next chapter should not be too long. I still have a good week before I go back into my hectic shedule. And remember, reviews make the world go 'round. **


	13. Old Friends, New Faces

**Apologies for the wait. My summer looked boring at first. In reality, it's a lot busier. Summer camp, _Godspell_, more _Godspell_... I am consumed. But here's Chapter 13. A warning, I have no idea what I'm going to do with Chapter 14, and I'm about to go on a missions trip and then right into dress rehearsals. So it'll be a wait.**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_. **

* * *

**Chapter 13: Old Friends, New Faces**

* * *

Nicolas and Mathieu started school a week after their arrival in Paris, but until then the friends were determined to make every second count. Nicolas and Cosette had only lived together a few days, but they were falling into a routine. Cosette, who was far more skilled at housekeeping, would wake in the morning and make breakfast and then pitter around until Nicolas woke up. They would eat and then take a walk through town until they met up with Mathieu. Around noon they would have lunch at a bistro and then wander around, just looking at the people and reminiscing on their childhood.

One afternoon, Cosette and Nicolas found themselves sitting alone on a shaded bench in the Luxembourg, enjoying the sun and the pleasant breeze as the people of Paris scurried past. Cosette was becoming quite used to the arts of watching and enjoying, rather than doing and working.

"Hmm, that one looks rather sour, a bit like a bad grape. How about… Monique?"

"I was actually thinking along the lines of Eulalie."

"Ah, I had a nanny named Eulalie. Charming old dear, actually, but she smelled like a dusty attic."

They were naming people, strangers walking past. It was an entertaining way to waste the time until Mathieu emerged from his first class, as the people of Paris were quite varied and unique compared to those around Gagny. Nicolas always came up with the best stories for them as they passed unknowingly, tales that made Cosette giggle or sneer or gasp accordingly.

"Aw, how about that little darling?" Cosette motioned to a tiny boy in stuffy clothes who had waddled out of his mother's reach and over to a nearby fountain, into which he was now sticking his pale dimpled hands.

"Aristide Gerard Napoleon, plus ten or so surnames, I do believe." Nicolas stuck one finger in the air as a scientist would upon stating an intelligent fact. "He looks terribly unhappy, don't you think?"

Cosette considered it. "A bit like that boy Julien Enjolras, remember him?"

"Oh, _do _I!" Nicolas cringed. "Stuck-up, whiny little snob. I never liked him. Not one bit." In Cosette's opinion, actually, Nicolas had always seemed a bit jealous of the Enjolras family's wealth, but she did not dare to point it out right now.

Changing the subject, Cosette gestured to a passing elderly couple, hand in hand, pointing out the flowers as they went along. "Gilles and Helene, do you think?" she asked, but she did not hear Nicolas's answer. As she looked across the path, she caught two eyes watching her, two big, brown, timid eyes pausing at the fountain. Transfixed for a moment, she blinked and realized that these eyes belonged to a boy, apparently close to Nicolas's age, and very attractive. He was not tall, and there was something sunken about the way he held himself that made him appear even smaller. Still, his large brown eyes were endearing, and he had a head of adorable brown curls that hung down into his boyish face. When he saw Cosette watching him, he looked away and went about his business, checking his pocket watch and hurrying back down the path.

"Ah, that young man looks rather like a Jerome to me," Nicolas said, seeing Cosette's gaze on the strange boy who was now headed in the opposite direction. "Or a Martin. What do you think?"

"I like… Martin," Cosette said absently. _Martin_… The boy turned around one more time to look at her before he was lost in a crowd of busy people. She had a strong feeling she would be seeing him again. Nicolas shot her a knowing look; Cosette was too preoccupied to see the flash of distress behind his grey eyes.

* * *

"You two will never believe who I've run into!" Mathieu greeted the pair with these words when he met them for lunch at a café just near the gardens. He had a heavy stack of books underneath one arm.

"Anne Boleyn?" suggested Cosette, shrugging and taking a sip of her water.

"Napoleon Bonaparte?" Nicolas added. Mathieu did not know whether to be amused or bugged by their antics, but either way he sat down across from them, placing his books on the floor beside his seat, and motioned to a boy who had just entered the shop. He was mid-height and quite skinny, with a mop of black curls and a pair of spectacles sitting on his pale nose. Before Mathieu said a word, both Nicolas and Cosette knew exactly who he was.

"Christian Joly," they said at the same time ("It's so great to see you," Cosette added).

"Cosette!" Christian Joly sounded surprised. "Is that really you?" The words sounded familiar to Cosette, and she recognized it as what Nicolas had said when he first saw her at the beginning of the summer.

The girl blushed and smiled. "Yes, Christian, it's me." He bowed slightly to her before taking a seat across from Nicolas.

"Dear Joly happens to be in one of my classes," said Mathieu, motioning to the boy.

"How long have you been in Paris?" Cosette asked.

"All summer," said Joly, sniffing slightly as though he was under the weather. "I have a flat over on the Rue Froidevaux. Wonderful view of the cemetery." He was being sarcastic about the view, but somehow Cosette could not help but think that it was very suiting for his odd, rather morbid persona.

Lunch was a jumble of merry conversation. Nicolas and Mathieu showed no dislike of Christian throughout the meal, as they had when they were children - in fact, they all got along rather nicely. Joly was very careful not to mention Nicolas's mother, and after a sidelong glance from Mathieu he took the hint that conversation about either of Nicolas's parents was out of bounds. Instead they discussed classes and futures and politics and some intelligent things that Cosette hardly understood (but immediately wanted to know about). Joly asked Cosette about how she liked Paris, and what her favorite parts were. She explained that she was fascinated by the gardens and the grand houses, but that the old churches were her favorite.

"Stops to read every historical plaque we pass," Nicolas said teasingly. Cosette pretended to turn up her nose at him, but he had spoken the truth. She was fascinated by the stories that Paris held. Monfermeil and Gagny were indeed both old towns, but no one had taken the care to write down any of the history, it seemed.

When they were done with lunch, the boys paid for the food and the group departed from the café. "Have you heard anything of Jehan or Julien since you've been in Paris?" Mathieu asked Joly as they walked. Cosette turned her ear, curious.

"Can't say that I have," said Christian Joly. "Of course Julien's father's name pops up here and there in the news, just shallow stuff about his fortune and his business actions, but I have yet to hear of our noble little snob of a friend." Cosette sighed; she had not forgotten the utmost hatred that Christian and Julien seemed to have felt for one another as children. Apparently, it had not yet vanished.

"And as for Jehan, I haven't seen the fellow since we were eleven or so," said Joly in a slightly sad voice. Jehan had been nicer to him by far than the other boys back in those days. Cosette was a bit disappointed to hear this as well - Jehan was such a sweet and gentle boy, and always so pleasant to be around.

The group of four wandered around Paris for a while before Joly rushed back off to his flat, remembering that his maid did not have a key to get in and would be getting quite impatient. Then, Mathieu dropped out of the party to return to his own apartment to begin on a bit of homework he had already accumulated.

"Don't forget," he said to Nicolas as he departed. "Eight 'o clock."

"What's at eight o' clock?" Cosette asked just as Mathieu had left.

Nicolas smiled wryly and stretched his long arms over his head. "My first class. Mathieu seems doubtful that I will actually show up. Don't know why he would go thinking something like that, do _you_?"

Cosette suppressed a giggle and sighed as they walked back to their flat, the sun setting behind them.

* * *

"Nicolas?"

Cosette prodded at the boy's shoulder. His head was totally buried beneath a pillow, giving him the appearance of a headless body. "Nicolas? It's almost seven fifteen. I made you tea…"

He showed no signs of waking up; mumbling a few words, Nicolas just rolled a bit onto one side and buried himself deeper in the bedding. Cosette furrowed her brow. She had woken up at six forty-five to make breakfast, and now Nicolas refused to get out of bed. What a start to a day…

"Nic, your breakfast is getting cold!" she urged, pushing his head a bit so that rocked gently to one side and back again. Finally, becoming impatient, Cosette sat up to her full height on the bed and, taking in a deep breath, yelled, "_Nicolas de Courfeyrac, you get out of bed right now!!_"

It had the desired effect - Nicolas's eyes sprung open as though he had been prodded with a hot metal brand. Cosette could just imagine poor Madame Bellerose, overhung with wine, waking up to the screeching yell and the subsequent cursing from Nicolas when he realized how long he had slept.

"Why didn't you wake me?" he kept asking as he jumped out of bed and pulled on his clothes, hardly abashed at dressing in front of Cosette.

"I tried to," Cosette kept answering with a laugh - Nicolas had just buttoned his waistcoat one button off. "You sleep like a sloth, has anyone ever told you that?" Nicolas waved off the remark with a troll-like grunt before hurrying out of the room, his trousers still unbuttoned.

Ten minutes later, he was hurrying out the door, smoothing back his light brown hair as he went and muttering slightly to himself. "Have a good day!" called Cosette, feeling slightly guilty for not having woken him up sooner.

Left alone in the flat, Cosette sank down into her favorite chair near the window and leafed through a book on ancient civilizations for a while. After about three quarters of an hour, however, she began to grown restless. The sun streaming through the window was warm and inviting on her face, and the sight of the morning passers-by filled Cosette with the same sense of excitement that she always got when watching the constant shuffling of the citizens. She felt as though she needed to rush right down there and become a part of it. What reason was there to stay indoors?

Fastening on her prettiest bonnet and putting some more finishing touches on her toilette, Cosette slipped on her shoes and left the flat, a sense of freedom bubbling up in her chest. Where to go first? What to do in this huge city? Cosette wandered down the street without really knowing where she was headed. She passed the usual collection of vendors and beggars and shop owners that she and Nicolas usually saw, and she waved to them as she went.

Before long she had reached the Seine, where she stopped to gaze down at the churning waters as usual. As she approached the rail, however, she bumped into the shoulder of someone who was walking swiftly in the opposite direction.

"Oh!" exclaimed a soft but distinctly male voice. "Oh, excuse me mademoiselle."

"My apologies, monsieur," Cosette was quick to respond. "I was not looking where I was…" As she looked up at the young man, she trailed off. Her heart fluttered. Her voice failed to work.

_Martin_, she thought, recognizing with excitement the boy from the Luxembourg. She took in with delight his mop of brown hair, his uncertain brown eyes set into a remarkably boyish face. He was dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, and he was holding what appeared to be a suitcase in one hand. Wordlessly, the two stared at each other for several long moments. _What are the chances… two times in less than twenty-four hours…_ Cosette began to blush, and the boy cleared his throat.

"I, er… I mean, I… Excuse me," he said again. Clearing his throat, he began to back up to leave. Just before he turned, Cosette caught an inscription on his suitcase, much like the bags of little Julien Enjolras. There were two words separated by a couple of letters and periods - a name. Reading swiftly, Cosette made out what was unmistakably an "M" at the beginning of the first name, and what looked like "Pon" at the beginning of the surname. _M. Pon-something-or-another_, she thought to herself as she watched his form sink into the crowd.

Had Cosette been any less of a lady and unconcerned with keeping up a decent reputation, she might have followed the boy to wherever he was going. Instead, she turned on one heel and kept up her route, a secretive smile on her face. For a while she walked around the railing overlooking the Seine, the many windows of Notre Dame flashing the light from the morning sun into her face. She walked without direction, without deliberation, and eventually found herself at the Pont Notre Dame.

All at once, she was struck again from behind by a passerby. Before she could protest, a bullet of a girl shot out from behind her, feet slapping on the pavement and rugged blonde hair whipping around as she dodged the meandering citizens of Paris.

"_Excusez-moi_!" she called behind her as she passed Cosette. Cosette squinted at the child. She was dressed in extremely ragged clothes, but there was something familiar about her face… Before she could get a closer look however, the girl was halfway across the bridge and out of sight.

"_Azelma! Come back here!" _

Cosette nearly jumped a foot in the air at the raspy, screeching yell from some ten or fifteen feet behind her. Azelma… _Mon Dieu, _thought Cosette, turning around and nearly colliding with the owner of the voice, who had been running just as fast as her younger sister.

Eponine Thenardier, in the flesh. A shiver ran up Cosette's spine as she took in the long, auburn tangles of hair, the grubby rabbit nose, the bloodshot eyes. It was hardly the same girl. The other, younger Eponine was haughty and pretty and had shining braids and rosy cheeks. There was none of that present here. No, this Eponine was skinny, skeletal beneath her clothing. She had a wild expression on her gaunt face and her once slender arms were now awkward and spider-like. Her hair was like Medusa's, seeming to twirl around itself in a tangled frenzy. And her eyes… she stared at Cosette with dazed, crazy brown eyes. She wore a man's shirt, buttoned off-kilter, and trousers, rolled up to the knee and nearly falling off of her bony hips.

A passing woman sneered at the sight and hastened her walking pace. Cosette wished to do the same.

It seemed to take Eponine several moments to come to her senses and fully recognize Cosette. When she did, her eyes went wide, and then narrow again in fury. "You!" she hissed out. "What are _you_ doing here!" She was taking in Cosette's frilly bonnet and brand new dress as a thief might eye a collection of jewels, as though she were about to grab them off of Cosette and run. She did not, however, do anything of the sort. She continued to stand there and look at Cosette in confusion and frustration.

"I… I'm sorry," Cosette stammered, wringing her hands. "I don't know who you're…" But the look of bewilderment on Cosette's face had clearly given her away.

"You dirty, lying Lark!" Eponine was speaking overly loud, seemingly unaware of the crowd around her. "Running off after your whore mother. I bet you thought you had us tricked, eh?" Eponine grimaced, a terrible sight with her missing front teeth and her bloodshot eyes. She appeared to be a sort of mystical beast, all at once terrifying, revolting, and pathetic. But in an instant this pitiful creature could call upon her red-faced father and send Cosette back into the slavery of her childhood! Cosette straightened up her posture and tried to wipe the panic out of her expression.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you are talking about," said Cosette hurriedly, glancing over her shoulder. The only thing behind her was the railing.

"You know perfectly well," Eponine barked, her words chopped by a cough and a rough clearing of the throat. "It's all your fault what's happened to us, do you know that? Do you _know_?"

Cosette never got to answer that. In the blink of an eye, the crowd thickened as they made way for a fast-moving carriage. A large man with a tall hat bumped into Eponine, sending her to the ground as she swore loudly, and Cosette made her escape.

She did not stop running until she had made her way back across the bridge and into the sea of people on the other side. Even then she kept up her guard and walked quickly in the direction of the flat; her eyes darted nervously back and forth as she went.

What if Eponine told her father what she had seen? The little Lark, roaming the streets of Paris, wearing finery the Thenardiers had never laid their hands upon? There was a chance he would no longer care about hunting down the little maid, but what if he did? What if he wanted revenge? Cosette shuddered at thinking of what might happen.

But Nicolas would never _let _it happen.

Cosette smiled. She had not thought of Nicolas all morning, not sense she had bumped into her Martin. M-Pon-something. But she did not know him, and what were the chances she would ever see him again? Nicolas was her best friend. He would never let something so terrible come to pass.

The flat was friendly and comforting. Cosette removed her bonnet and collapsed into her favorite chair by the window. It was warm from baking in the rising sun all morning. In an hour Nicolas would be back from his first morning class. Perhaps they would eat lunch together, and Cosette could hear all about her friend's academic experience. Dwelling on this thought, she almost forgot about Eponine and Monsieur Thenardier and the morning's fright. _Paris is a large city_, she reminded herself. _Eponine and I may never cross again_.

Cosette was no seer; she had no way of knowing her star-crossed future with the _gamine_.

* * *

**Reviews, please. **


	14. Enter the Great Green Beast

**I know, I'm dreadful. I'm gone for more than two months, and then I post this absolutely awful chapter. But I couldn't stand it just sitting there half-finished for any longer. I had to have something to do. I was about to go crazy if I didn't write something, so today I just sat down at my computer and put in earplugs and attempted to wade my way through the pesky middle. **

**I'm still horribly busy. I'm a senior, so I'm loaded with schoolwork, not to mention theatre. I'm currently Mrs. Mayor in a production of _Seussical_, on top of various other activities. But never fear, I _AM _planning to finish this story. I have every intention of it. I saw a touring production of _Les Mis_ this weekend, and it has resparked the interest I thought had left for good. Now I'm back to belting "On My Own" in the car and man, does it feel great. So expect more!**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_, and I wish I didn't own this chapter. Blech. **

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**Chapter Fourteen: Enter the Great Green Beast**

* * *

Cosette told Nicolas neither of her experience with her mysterious "Martin" nor her unpleasant meeting with the hollow-faced ragamuffin Eponine Thenardier; she felt that his knowing such things would only lead to disagreement in their peaceful and enjoyable lives as new Parisians. This is not to say that Cosette forgot about Eponine or the brown-headed boy. No, she could hardly go out of the flat without flashing glances about the street to make sure neither of them was present (she was afraid to see Eponine again for fear of what her father might do; with Martin it was more of a fear of embarrassment or becoming abashed in front of Nicolas). Her dreams were filled with a cackling, dirty-faced Eponine and a crazed Monsieur Thenardier threatening enslavement and a handsome young man who wandered in and out of the picture, never speaking once.

The weeks passed peacefully, in spite of such fears. The friends' rituals remained untouched; they still met for lunch after Nicolas' classes, and were usually joined by Mathieu Combeferre and Christian Joly. Before the group knew it, Cosette was turning fifteen, and Nicolas seventeen.

On Cosette's birthday, Nicolas showed up late for lunch with two colored boxes tucked underneath his arms.

"I couldn't pick between them," he said as Cosette took the first box and began to open it. "You have looked at them in the window both so often, it was impossible to tell which you liked best."

"Oh, Nicolas!" Cosette exclaimed as she pulled out the most beautiful pink bonnet she had ever laid eyes on. The second was similar, in a fetching shade of pale green. It was true; she had eyed both of them frequently on the friends' afternoon outings. "How can I choose?"

"You don't have to," the boy said quickly. "They're both yours." His face turned a shade of red, barely visible with all of his freckles, as he said this. Cosette did not catch it, for she was busy tying on the green bonnet, using the window of the bistro as a mirror. A young woman indoors eyed the hat with an air of jealousy that made Cosette smile.

"You get prettier every day, little rebel," Nicolas said as he watched her fiddle with the bow. Mathieu gave him a meaningful Look.

Before Cosette knew it, it was November and the weather was growing colder by the day. The harsh winds called for new wardrobe, Cosette told Nicolas. He bought her pretty shawls and thicker gloves and a fluffy white muff for the occasion. Sometimes Cosette would look in the mirror at one of her new, expensive purchases and think that perhaps she was taking advantage of the de Courfeyrac fortune, but Nicolas always seemed eager to dote on her, and she looked so fetching in her new velvet bonnets that it was difficult to say no. She got stares from young men (and older ones) in the streets during her daily outings, and it was her private fantasy that she would see her dear Martin and that he would notice her.

She did not believe in her heart, however, that anything would ever come of her short little meeting with the strange young man. But once again, her predictions were quite wrong.

* * *

It was the last day of November, and Cosette had spent a good bit of the early afternoon in front of the large mirror in her bedroom, fiddling with her hair. She was attempting a popular hairstyle that called for many hairpins, all of which were laid out in a collection on the dresser top. However many times she tried, one stubborn section of hair on the side of her head fell out of its pin and into her face at the slightest movement.

At the sound of the front door closing loudly, Cosette jumped and one heavy dirty-blonde braid fell out of its pin once more, hanging in front of the girl's eyes. As it is in many cases, Cosette had not noticed Nicolas's drastic lateness until he arrived home, his waistcoat splattered with raindrops from an afternoon storm and his nose red with cold.

"My goodness, the sound of the door startled me!" exclaimed Cosette as she moved to the doorway to greet him. She glanced at the clock in the hall. "It's almost four o' clock! Where on earth have you been?"

"Talking to some friends down at a café," Nicolas replied, wiping rain from his eyelashes and the ends of his brown hair. "We let the time get away from us."

"I hope you're still hungry," Cosette scolded. "I was going to cook dinner for tonight. I don't fancy wading through any puddles in the cold."

Nicolas chuckled at the false angry look on her face. He sauntered over to the doorway of the bedroom and reached out with one hand to finger the long braid hanging in front of Cosette's face.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me who you were meeting at the café?" Cosette asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Just some boys from class," Nicolas answered. "Ah, but guess who was there?"

Cosette bit her lip in thought, and a smile came to her face. "Who?" she asked, thinking of little Jean Prouvaire.

"A certain Julien Enjolras," said Nicolas. "I wasn't surprised to learn that he had come to Paris, really."

"Oh, he was such a _snob_ as a child!" Cosette said, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Turned his nose up every time he saw me! Is he still like that?"

Nicolas pondered for a moment. "Not quite. You'll see. One day soon I'll take you out to lunch and you can meet them all."

* * *

That day came just a week later. The weather had grown even colder with the arrival of December, but though the city froze nightly, there was no snow to be seen.

Nicolas arrived home to find Cosette once again twisting her thick braids into her much-attempted hairstyle. Today, however, the pins seemed to be holding it all in place, creating a sort of halo that framed her rosy cheeks. She was wearing a dark green dress and a matching bonnet and seemed to have put quite a bit of weight into her appearance.

"Ready to go, mademoiselle?" Nicolas asked, offering her his arm.

The walk to the little café on the other side of the river was as most of their walks were. Nicolas made conversation, usually about the hurried and flustered citizens passing on either side of them, and occasionally made some unrelated remark out of the blue. Cosette listened patiently to his monologues, honestly interested and amused, but she kept her eyes alert to the people around her, watching diligently for anyone of interest. Every so often she would jump slightly at the sight of a _gamine _standing helplessly by the side of the road, messy hair hanging in her gaunt face. She, thankfully, had yet to catch sight of Eponine Thenardier.

"Here we are," said Nicolas at last, opening the door to a small, busy place Cosette had often passed but never entered. The room smelled strongly of fresh bread and melting butter, and Cosette's stomach rumbled appropriately. Then, with a wide grin, she caught sight of Mathieu Combeferre and Christian Joly seated at a table near the back wall.

"I hear Bossuet has a new flat mate," Mathieu said as soon as the two approached the table. Joly stood up and politely pulled out a chair for Cosette; Nicolas seemed a bit peeved by this action.

"_Mon Dieu, _he'll never be able to support the both of them!" Nicolas argued. "I'm surprised he's not been evicted yet!"

"Exactly why I told him the boy could come and stay with me," Mathieu responded. "But he seems adamant to prove his ability to be useful. You know how he is."

"Well, Pontmercy doesn't seem to care one way or another," said Joly. "If Bossuet is determined, then just let it be."

"Who are you all talking about?" Cosette asked, more out of boredom than interest.

"Marius Pontmercy," explained Nicolas. "A student in one of mine and Bossuet's classes." Cosette had heard the name "Bossuet" a few times, and from what she had gathered he was a poor young man who was constantly in danger of being evicted from his apartment. "The poor boy is out on his own for the first time," Nicolas went on, referring again to this Pontmercy fellow, "and he needed a place to stay, so Bossuet took him in."

"Ah, right on cue!" Mathieu said suddenly, and Cosette turned around to see two young men entering the café. One, who was standing in front of and obstructing the other, was dressed in dull, functional clothes and had an old hat perched on top of his head. No hair showed from underneath. He had a kind, round face and sky-blue eyes that seemed a bit too large for his head. This, Cosette knew almost at once, was Bossuet.

Then, the young man behind Bossuet stepped aside, a shy expression on his boyish face, and Cosette felt her heart skip a beat.

It was Martin. _Her_ Martin. _M-Pon-something. _Marius Pontmercy.

He was taller than she remembered, and his brown curls had grown longer and a bit unruly, but he was still the same meek-looking boy she had seen on those two occasions. He seemed to recognize her as well; his adorable eyes grew large, and seemed to avoid her yet be drawn to her at once.

"Cosette," Mathieu said. "I'd like you to meet Damien Lesgles-"

"Call me Bossuet," the bald young man interrupted, shaking his head.

"-and Marius Pontmercy."

Cosette nearly choked on the bit of bread she had in her mouth. "Very nice to meet you, messieurs," she said politely, looking down at once as though she had taken a sudden keen interest in the lace that lined the wrist of her dress sleeve. It was stiff and ornate and looked a bit like a silhouette of a little garden. She took to figuring out which flower each of the tiny sections most resembled.

Nicolas watched with annoyance, his gaze shifting between his lovely young housemate and his blundering, puppy-faced new friend. He had been quite the brat as a child, one must remember. Some things do not disappear with age.

* * *

The meal was uncomfortable to say the absolute least, or at least for Cosette, who remained silent between Nicolas and Combeferre (she was outnumbered as the lone survivor from their childhood who still preferred to call him "Mathieu"), sipping discreetly on a plentifully refilled glass of water and not really listening to what the boys were talking about. Every once in a while, she would steal a glance at Marius, only to catch him immediately averting his gaze. His eyes were so deep and beautiful... they reminded her of little Jehan, so many years ago, ordering a young and gangly Nicolas to drop his illegal weapon.

Meeting Marius, her Martin, after so many weeks of walking the streets of Paris with a vigilant eye, remembering the handsome ghost boy whom she might never see again, reminded Cosette of a story Madame Thenardier had read to her daughters once, while Cosette crouched nervously behind the kitchen wall, an empty pail in one red hand. In the storybook, a beautiful young shepardess was enamored with a dazzling blonde-haired prince who rode his horse through the village streets every morning when he went out to hunt. By some fantastical circumstances, the shepardess came face to face with the young man and, after so long of dreaming what to say and what to do in his saintly presence, she had no idea how to act or converse with him. Cosette did not know how the story ended, however, because Monsieur Thenardier had found her listening in and had thrown her out into the rain by the ear with an order to go feed the customers' horses.

She could accurately figure, however, that the shepardess' thoughts came back, and she married the prince a surprisingly short time afterwards. That always happened in books.

Now, she herself was faced with the prince, and knew just how that poor shepardess felt.

None of this mattered for long, however. Cosette was still lost in thought and absently dripping soup from her spoon into her bowl when she was roused by the sound of chairs scraping on the wooden planked floor, and a hand tapping on her shoulder.

"What?" she drawled, looking up at Nicolas. Her eyes darted over to the other side of the table, which was empty. She only saw her best friend standing over her, and Mathieu Combeferre next to him, putting on a coat.

"Sorry if we bored you," Nicolas said kindly, handing Cosette her warmly lined muff. "Did you understand a word we said?"

"Politics," answered Cosette, moving her mouth as though she had a bad taste on her tongue. Her eyes darted over to the window. There were still three men standing outside, though she could not see their faces. "Never really understood it, though - "

"Well, nothing you need to worry yourself with," Nicolas began to say, leaning against the back of Cosette's chair, but Mathieu cut him off.

"If she _wants_ to learn about it, then she _will_," he said matter-of-factly. "Cosette, if you ever want to, I have some old editorial essays you can borrow."

"Thank you," Cosette said, nodding her head and looking up at the auburn-haired boy. Beside him, Nicolas appeared peeved.

Cosette stole a glance at the three men by the window the second they stepped outside into the freezing evening; they were just a few old men smoking large cigars, and she felt her heart fall a little. Marius was nowhere to be seen. She did not, however, express her abject disappointment out loud. Nicolas's sour expression was enough of a warning against a mentioning of Marius Pontmercy's name.

This is not to say that she did not think of Marius the entire awkward trip back to the flat. Her mind was solely on him - his gorgeous brown eyes, his boyish cheeks, the gnawing urgency that accompanied her doubts about ever getting a chance to speak with him. She kicked the little pebbles on the sidewalk and felt much like a small girl, fantasizing about some faraway prince. She could almost see herself with twin plaits and childish buckled shoes, picking off flower petals in that silly "He Loves Me" game which she had so often watch Eponine and Azelma play in the small garden out back of the inn.

She shuddered at the thought of Eponine, once more forcing the image of the gaunt, spidery girl with the grungy Medusa hair out of her mind. _How things have changed_, Cosette mused somberly.

* * *

Cosette still had a spring in her step when she and Nicolas arrived at the flat. She peeled off her gloves and set her muff on her dressing table and placed her boots by her armoire. There was still a chill in the air, so she made her way to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea, her socked feet aching a bit with each step, and she vowed never again to walk to the bistro and back in new boots.

Nicolas was already sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in one hand and the other flipping the pages of a large book. His face was stony and emotionless, and he would have looked quite solemn if his freckled nose was not still red and raw from the cold. He paid no attention to Cosette as she fixed her tea and then took a seat across the table from him. He did not even object when she leaned forward to read the pages of his book upside down. But after a while, she seemed to grow tired of doing this, and, settling back into her seat, her untouched tea held in one small hand, she said, "You know, you're being quite rude."

Nicolas looked up from his book. "Rude? I'm not being rude." His voice was childish and indignant. "How am I being rude?"

"Most gentlemen at least acknowledge when their lady housemate enters the room," she said, sticking her button nose in the air. "And you haven't said a word to me since dinner!"

"I'm talking to you now!" he argued, slamming his book shut.

"Yes, but you _aren't_ being very _nice_!"

Silence. Cosette's breaths were shallow and shaky as she sank back into her chair, looking intently at the pattern on the kitchen wall. All she could hear was her own breath, and the gentle clamor of the streets below. From the corner of her eye, she saw Nicolas rise from his seat and reach for the school book, which Cosette had hoped she could borrow.

Then, quiet and cold as the winter itself, he said, "Have some sense, Cosette. You don't even know him." And he was gone.

It took Cosette a good slow moment to realize the meaning of his icy words, but once they hit her, she just looked down at the table, her mouth gaping in disbelief.

_Mon Dieu_, she thought wearily. _I've really messed this up_.

* * *

**Next chapter will be about a week or two. Like I said, it's for my benefit. I'll go bonkers if I don't have a story to work on, you know? **


	15. Little Progress

**Okay, here's chapter fifteen - my second longest chapter so far, I do believe. It's actually about half of what I intended - before I got done with what I wanted to write for it, I realized I was already at four and a half pages. So chapter sixteen shouldn't be too long, except this is dress rehearsal week for _Seussical_, and next week is performance week. But I'm back into the story now, so it's easier to write. I'm really happy with the way this chapter turned out. **

**I in no way own _Les Miserables. _**

* * *

**Chapter 15: Little Progress**

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'"_Alas!' said he, 'ere is a heap of bodies worthy of the fifth book of the Iliad!' Then he continued his ascent. The vagabonds followed him."_

Cosette closed her book and set it down on the edge of the little stone garden bench. Rubbing at her raw hands, she breathed out in a white cloud and twitched her red nose. It was her second time through _Notre-Dame de Paris_, and she still couldn't bear to read the death of poor Jehan Frollo. It made her think of her beloved childhood friend, the doe-eyed Jean Prouvaire who watched birds and drank tea in the summer. And Cosette did not like thinking of Jean Prouvaire, because it made her think of those days playing War in the grassy stretch behind the gardens, firing invisible guns from willow tree fortresses, and thinking of those days only reminded her in full of her dear best friend, Nicolas Courfeyrac.

It had been a week and a half, and they had not spoken a solitary word to each other. An oddity of nature, Nicolas was gone when Cosette woke up, shivering under the covers, and he returned late, in silence. They did not eat together, nor did they walk together. Cosette received no invitations to dine at the café with Nicolas and his friends, and she did not dare provoke his temper by showing up on her own accord. Still, she prayed that one morning she might wake up and go into the kitchen to fix a cup of tea, only to find Nicolas sitting at the table with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand, flashing that lazy, crooked grin and saying, "Good morning, my little rebel." But no such thing seemed close to happening.

All of the flowers in the back garden were dead and the plants, coated with frost each morning, looked ghostly. Still, Cosette found it to be favorable to sitting inside the flat, reading in the chair next to the window and anticipating the ever-awkward moment when Nicolas came home, books in hand, and acted as though he had the place entirely to himself. So, Cosette sat outside in the little garden and read borrowed books and listened to the sounds of people living their lives all around her. There was an elderly woman in an apartment across the street who weaved baskets all day in front of her large window. A bit down the street lived a family who had at least five children, all impeccably dressed in frills and buttons, who walked to school behind their mother every morning, looking like a line of chattering ducklings. The youngest, a round-cheeked boy with pudgy fingers, always waved to Cosette through the wrought iron fence, and she waved back.

When Cosette finally went back inside every day, she would find Nicolas slumped over a book at the kitchen table, or already asleep on his bed, fully dressed. But as the days passed, he stopped coming home at all. Cosette would come inside and fix dinner as usual, but she did not hear him come home until long after she had crawled into bed, three blankets piled on top of her. She tried to push all anxieties surrounding this from her mind. What should she care about Nicolas? She had not come to Paris to enjoy his presence and dilly-dally all day long in the park with him.

Strangely, she did not think of Marius as much as one might expect.

* * *

On the fourteenth of December, Cosette grew bored with the garden and the basket-weaving lady and the duckling children. She put on a prettier shawl, her nicer boots, pinned her hair up, and left the flat to take a walk, a bit of Nicolas's money jingling in her pocket. Her goal was cake. She had seen a quite pretty one in the window of a baker's shop some time back, and she was determined to make one herself, once she got her hands on the proper materials. The frightful cold had lifted a bit, and the sun was now shining through the sparse clouds in the bleak sky. Cosette hummed as she walked, just bits and pieces of drinking songs which she remembered from the kitchens of the de Courfeyrac estate. _I'll bake a cake for Nicolas_, she thought. _He'd like that, right? _

She was rounding the corner and heading towards the Pont Notre Dame when she spotted a familiar figure walking several paces ahead of her, and at quite a speed. His thin, black curls were uncontrollable in the wintry wind, and his skin seemed paler than ever.

"Christian!" she called out, causing Joly to turn around. He had a couple of books under one arm, and a large scarf was piled around his neck, making it a wonder of the world that he could even breathe. Cosette hurried to catch up with him.

"Hullo," Joly said with a polite nod. His smile was crooked but kind as he greeted her. "Haven't seen you in couple of weeks. Been locked up in the flat?"

Cosette wrinkled her nose and shook her head, a section of her dirty blonde hair falling out of its pin as usual. "It's been too cold to get out much. I've been staying in the garden mainly."

"We've missed you at the café," Joly went on. "Nicolas said you prefer not to listen to us talk about politics. That true? I had no idea we were so boring." He sounded falsely hurt.

Cosette was incredulous. "He said that?" she whispered, for her voice would not come out any louder. Her heart was beating fast and hard in her ears, and she was sure that her jaw must have been gaping in a most unsightly manner. _He said those words… He said that…_

"Yes," said Joly, but this time he spoke with hesitation. Had he let something slip? "What's wrong? Was he being truthful?"

"Oh," Cosette hurried. _A quick cover-up. _"I'm just a bit embarrassed, is all. I didn't think he would actually tell you what I said." She tried her best to blush, or at least look flushed and bashful. "I'm sorry."

"Quite alright," Joly smiled. "I don't really have much of an understanding of politics myself, but I do feel like I learn something at every meeting. You should come back some evening."

Cosette could almost have cried with compassion for this odd boy, with his wiry hair and bulky clothing. Changing the subject (she did not wish for Nicolas to come up anywhere in the conversation), she asked, "So how have you been doing?"

His answer was pure, classic Christian Joly. "I think I've contracted pneumonia," he said gravely. "Combeferre told me he's sure I'm fine, but I have most every symptom I've read about."

He looked fit as a fiddle, besides the normal appearance of utmost fragility.

"You look fine, dear," Cosette said in a mock-motherly voice, causing Joly to smile. "You'll be feeling better in no time!" This could be said with certainty. His illnesses never lasted long, at least not past his newest discovery in the medical field.

The had just reached the end of the bridge when Cosette got the distinct feeling that she was being watched by someone. It was close to lunchtime, so the crowd on the street had grown more dense than it had been when she had first set off on her walk, making it difficult to target a suspect. But just as she turned to look, she caught sight of a mop of brown hair out of the corner of one eye. She looked at Joly; he was fiddling with his pocket watch. Another glance - Cosette looked just in time to see a ghostly figure dressed in the filthiest of rags dart behind a swift-moving group of businessmen. Her heart skipped a beat.

"Hurry up," she urged Joly, leading him slightly away from the crowd and off the bridge. He did not, however, seem to hear her. He was furrowing his brow at his watch, the hands of which were not moving.

"Monsieur?" he called to a man walking leisurely ahead of them. "What time is it?" The man answered back in a muffled voice, so that Cosette did not hear. Apparently, however, the answer was not what Joly wanted to hear.

He swore softly, in that innocent, awkward way that children do. "I have class in ten minutes!" He leaned down and gave Cosette a soft peck on the cheek. "I hope to see you at dinner some day soon!" And with that, he was off, vanishing into the crowd, the ends of his scarf bouncing.

"Bedding down with the rich ones, eh? Like mother, like daughter."

Cosette did not have to turn around to imagine Eponine, black eyes narrowed, dark hair matted, standing there with the smuggest of looks on her grimy face. The pathetically raspy voice, at once youthful and ancient, was telltale enough.

"Good day, Eponine," she said with clenched teeth as she turned around slowly. The sight was much as she expected it. There stood the _gamine_, wearing an oversized coat, torn almost to shreds, over some dismal excuse for a dress. A thread was tied around her waist, which seemed no larger than her neck, so that the dingy blue fabric of the dress's bosom hung over the waistline. Her feet were bare. A rugged messenger bag was thrown over her neck and one shoulder, and in her hand was a broken flask. Whiskey, Cosette smelled.

"What's his name?" Eponine wanted to know. She tipped the flask into her mouth and swished around the murky liquid that it contained.

Cosette did not answer. "What do you want?" she asked. Eponine shrugged and rubbed her raw nose. Her freckled skin was paler than it had been last time. She looked sick. Cosette wondered if she would die when the weather got colder. The thought was somewhat disturbing, imagining this poor girl whom Cosette had known for her entire life, lying frozen and stiff in a gutter. Cosette shivered and tried to push the image from her mind.

"What's a question for an old friend?" Eponine drawled, scratching the back of her head.

"I don't think we were ever friends." Cosette tried to breathe through her mouth rather than her nose. The air was too cold; her throat ached after a few seconds.

For a brief moment, Eponine looked genuinely upset. The crazy look in her eyes became a bit more lucid. "That was mama and papa, I've always said. I en't done anything, and you know that." Then, she got an expression as though she smelled something terrible. "But," she said accusingly, "I wasn't the one who ran off and stole a baby!"

"Taking Gavroche away from your family was the best thing I could have ever done for him," Cosette said, almost without thinking. "I love him more than any of you _ev_er did."

"Mama was awful upset with you," Eponine scolded, shaking one dirty finger in a disapproving way. "She cried over him even, until we figured out you'd run off! We found your things missing from under the stairs."

Cosette did not think that Lucia Thenardier had the ability to cry for her estranged son, but the theoretical image was moving enough for her to doubt her motives from so long ago. She had never imagined when she stole Gavroche away from the inn that anyone would miss him. Could Eponine be telling the truth? The girl sighed. "Well, he's safe in the countryside, working as a kitchen boy on an estate. Much better off than if he was living on the _streets_. He would have died!"

"So you steal him, and then leave him" - Eponine had to pause for several seconds due to a coughing fit "- then leave him to work for a living in some fancy house? Some mother _you_ are!" This was said very mockingly.

"Better than your mother would have been," Cosette retorted. She bit her lip, trying not to lose her temper over something so petty. There was no point in arguing. Gavroche was safe in Gagny, where he would stay until Cosette found her mother and they moved into a little house by the sea. That was the plan.

Cosette started to leave, but a sudden thought crossed her mind. "You never answered my question - what do you want with me? Is it not possible for you to leave me alone? It's been five years. I thought we were past - "

"Ah, yes," said Eponine, waving her flask up into the air. "Only I'm not s'posed to tell you." Her lips curled up and she bared her hideous teeth. "Secret business."

But as Eponine spoke, Cosette heard another voice speak from somewhere to her left. "_Mon Dieu…"_

Cosette turned slowly, and felt her face fill up with a gigantic grin, as though Eponine was not still standing there, smiling repulsively.

"My goodness, Cosette! Is that really you?" Little Jean Prouvaire had not grown as much as one would think since the last time Cosette had seen him. Not yet seventeen, he stood at five feet and seven inches, with the same green eyes, like those of a baby deer, and the same gold-brown hair pulled back loosely, leaving several strands to remain hanging in his face. He looked like a little child, only stretched out a bit, as he rushed over to embrace his old friend.

"How in the world did you end up in Paris? You must tell me all about it!…"

"Oh, I haven't seen you in ages! Things weren't the same once you stopped coming back!"

They spoke at the same time, a jumble of syllables and smiles that ended in a fit of laughter. Finally, Cosette took a breath, still shaking from her laughter, and said, "I live here now. With Nicolas."

Jehan raised one eyebrow. "How so?"

Cosette caught his hint and quickly shook her head. "No! Nothing like _that_! He had to go off to school, and they let me come with him. You know, to look for my mother."

"Poor woman probably dropped dead a long time ago, you know," Eponine said, leaning back against the railing and tipping her flask. It was empty.

Jehan took in her terrible appearance, obviously surprised. "Uh," he stammered, but Cosette interrupted.

"Jehan, meet Eponine," she said, trying not to fume too much about Eponine's comment. "We were children together. And 'Ponine, meet Jehan."

"_Enchantee_," Eponine rasped, doing a semblance of a curtsy. "You make your way 'round France, dear Lark." She began to cough again.

Cosette ignored this. "Well," she said in a false-regretful voice to the gamine, "I'm afraid I must go. Do fare well, 'Ponine." The old nickname came naturally to Cosette's tongue, though she had not spoken it in years.

Between coughs, the poor girl laughed and said, "And you as well!" Then, she took off on light feet through the crowd, leaving Cosette and Jehan in silence.

"She seems…" Jehan started after Eponine had left, "… charming."

"Doesn't she?" Cosette was sarcastic. "Oh, her parents were absolutely dreadful to me! I know I should forgive them, but I just can't bring myself to! And to think little Gavroche was born to that family-"

"That's his sister?" Jehan was intrigued. Cosette nodded. "And where _is _the tyke?"

"Still working at the de Courfeyrac estate," said Cosette. "Seven years old, eight this New Years. The same age I was when I ran away."

Jehan smiled. "And look how you're getting along! You look beautiful, like a princess. Nicolas really must dote on you, eh?"

"Yes." Cosette hid her anguish, not wanting to speak bad of Nicolas. Jehan seemed to have the mental image that all was well with his old friends.

"You must tell me all that I have missed," Jehan said with a bit of longing. "Shall we find lunch?"

Cosette could not agree more fervently.

* * *

She arrived back at the flat late in the afternoon, a sack of cake ingredients in her hand (she had remembered them at the last moment) and a smile on her face. She pulled off her wet boots and took down her damp hair and started a fire in the living room. The wind had picked up while she was on her way home, and was now howling as hard as ever, making the shutters tremble and the trees in the garden brush up against the back windows. As overjoyed as she was to be out of the wretched weather and indoors, the flat now brought her a sort of sadness. For months it had been a safe haven where she could laugh and joke with Nicolas and feel the warmth of freedom. But now, with his constant absence, the atmosphere matched the weather outdoors - cold, desolate, saddening, not the sort of place one would willingly stay. More and more each day she began to miss the high spirits of the de Courfeyrac kitchen and the joy of having Angelette to boss her around and Rosie to confide in and Gavroche to curl up at the foot of her bed when he couldn't sleep or to drag her to his quarters to show her some poor turtle or lizard he had found outside and been compelled to keep.

Seeing and walking with Jehan had been a delightful treat. They had eaten a lovely warm meal at a little café near the Pantheon, and had discussed all of the happenings since they had last seen each other, more than five years ago. Jehan was not permanently living in Paris yet. He had finished his first bought of formal education and was coming back next year to attend the university. Currently he was in the city with his family - his father, mother, and younger sister, Claudia, who had been a very plump seven-year-old last time Cosette had seen her - for Christmas. Apparently Jean Prouvaire the First (Jehan's eccentric but quite jolly father) had had a sudden and spontaneous urge to visit Paris, so they packed up and traveled through the night, and now here they were, in Paris until the day after Christmas.

"Any hope finding your mother?" asked Jehan, who had not forgotten her long-time quest.

Cosette shook her head. In all honesty, she had forgotten about it in the whirlwind of the move.

The cake distracted Cosette for awhile. While it was baking she sat at the table and read the rest of the recipes in the cookbook she had been using, and once she was done with that she picked back up _The Notre-Dame de Paris _and skipped over the part about Jehan Frollo's death. The cake was finished around six thirty, and only after she had iced it and tasted it and set it out on the counter did she realize that Nicolas should have been home two hours ago.

This was nothing new. She finished her book and then went back into the living room, lighting candles as she did so. The flat always grew uncomfortably dark once the sun went down, and the howling of them wind and the scraping of the branches only made things far worse.

It was ten o' clock when she made up her mind to go to bed. She left a note out beside the cake:

_Nicolas_, it read, _This cake is for you. I hope you like it_. A childish attempt at reconciliation, but it was all she could think of.

When she woke up the next morning, the flat was empty. Two pieces of cake were missing, and scribbled hurriedly beside her writing on the note was the words, _The cake was good. Thank you. I will see you tonight_.

Equally childish, she crumpled up the note and threw it at the wall, making sure to step on it as she left the kitchen.

* * *

Nicolas did not come home at all that night. Cosette waited up until almost eleven, resting her head on the windowsill in her bedroom, which overlooked the garden. Had she been any more awake, she might have seen the small, skeletal figure standing behind the elaborate garden gate, looking up with dark eyes at the window, and she would have wondered. But she did not, and the gamine girl remained at her post until sunrise.

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**You know the drill - reviews make the world go round. **


	16. Anne

In the spirit of the season, Happy Halloween, and Go Obama.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Anne**

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It was four days before Christmas when the silent war between Cosette and Nicolas reached its pinnacle in one disastrous incident, and everything became clear.

The weather had grown so frigid that Cosette could no longer take her long walks down to the Seine, or sit and watch people from her little stone seat in the garden. She was confined to the flat's drab interior, reading books or baking cakes or cleaning dust from the furniture (the entire flat was spotless thanks to the former maid). When she grew sick with cabin fever, Cosette would journey upstairs to the fourth floor, which was unoccupied, and housed a cushioned window seat which overlooked the street out front.

On the twenty-first of December, Cosette found a letter sitting on Nicolas's desk, an important-looking paper marked with his father's signature. She would have continued on to read whatever Etienne de Courfeyrac had to say, but her eye was caught by a second envelope, much smaller than the first and folded in half, laid partially underneath the first. It was addressed in a childish, messy hand, and had Cosette's name printed carefully across the flap.

"'Vroche!" Cosette grinned and grabbed the letter. She had not communicated with her little brother in almost two months, and she grew homesick for him whenever she remembered his ratty brown hair and his galaxy of freckles and his lopsided grin. It was nearly impossibly to believe that he could be biologically related to such a creature as Eponine Thenardier.

_Dear Ettie, _it began in his careful, large print. _I hope you're having fun in Paris. I'll miss you a lot this Christmas. It isn't going to be the same. Angelette has pains in her hands and legs, and she is getting grumpier by the day. Rosie has left to visit her little son. We aren't doing much decorating. We only have candles and wreaths and some tinsel on the stairs. I don't think Monsieur de Courfeyrac cares, though. He isn't doing so well. That's what I wanted to write you about_.

Cosette wrinkled her brow. What was wrong?

_Nicolas probably told you already, but his father is really sick. I don't really know anything about it, but he doesn't move around very much anymore. Angelette told the kitchen staff that he is letting a lot of us go. I don't know who. Oscar said he's one of them, and he said that I probably am too, since both of us are so young. Do you think I could come to Paris if I have to leave here? Angelette said I probably could. I would really like to see Paris. I miss you a lot. Please write back._

Cosette bit her lip in worry and frustration. Why had Nicolas not told her this? He had obviously read the letter, since the smaller envelope had already been opened. Trying not to become angry, Cosette tucked Gavroche's letter back in it's envelope and, grabbing the necessary items, headed off to the upstairs window seat to reply.

The glass pane was cold even through the fabric of her dress and shawl. She settled into the cushions and set a book on her lap to lay the paper on top of. The ink well rested on the windowsill.

_Vroche_, she wrote. Her writing was, in contrast to his, graceful and looping. _I am alarmed to hear the news of Monsieur Etienne. Nicolas has not spoken to me a word of what you said in your letter _(She did not say why - Gavroche did not need to hear of their trouble). _I do hope he gets better. But even so, I can not help but be angry with him for letting his staff go. Some of them have no other home! But yes, if you must leave you could certainly come here to Paris. Nicolas would not mind _(Cosette bit her lip and hoped that this was true).

The letter continued on for a bit, general babbles about the weather and questions about how Angelette and Rosie and Gregoire were all doing. By the end she believed that she might have gone a bit over the top with her attempt to make everything sound as though it was going just grand. It was almost certain that Gavroche would see right through it. But then again, if he did indeed come to Paris he would be subjected to the uncomfortable atmosphere, and know that his sister was lying. The situation was troubling.

With this on her mind, Cosette dozed off, her head against the cold pane and the sound of whistling wind in her ear.

When she awoke, the sky was orange and pink with a brilliant sunset, the light reflecting into the hallway around her, which was otherwise growing dark and dim. Cosette grabbed her things and headed downstairs to the second floor, her slippers scraping on the glossy wood. But when she arrived in view of the front door, there was already somebody standing there.

Cosette was not sure if she had ever seen a more flashy female. She had seen gaudy prostitutes and stuffy old ladies with birds on their hats, but this girl was different. She wore a bright blue dress which was seemingly too big for her gracefully thin shoulders (and yet too tight for her ample bosom). The skirt was stiff and made her look like an upside-down bluebell. She had a white stole around her arms, resting stylishly on her elbows, in sharp contrast with her long, wavy dark hair, which cascaded past her white neck and puffed shoulders like a waterfall.

"May I help you?" Cosette asked hesitantly.

"Ah, _salut_!" The girl whirled around, her hair and skirt both spinning out prettily. "Is this Nicolas Courfeyrac's flat?" Her smile was brilliant, a wall of pearly teeth bordered by perfect pink.

Cosette took a deep breath, attempting to hide her annoyance. "Yes, it is Nicolas _de _Courfeyrac's flat." She put an emphasis on the middle syllable. The girl did not notice. She simply bit her sugarplum lip and raised one gloved hand to brush a dark curl out of her heart-shaped face. Her nose was large and important-looking compared to Cosette's freckled button.

"He told me not to come by," she said worriedly, "that he would meet me outside. But I waited, and it got very cold, so I came indoors."

"He gets home quite late sometimes," Cosette explained icily. It was all she could do to save her face and pose herself like a lady. Trying to smile, she said, "Would you like to come inside?"

The girl's eyes lit up. "Oh, I wouldn't want to intrude…" By the saccharine tone of her voice, it was apparent that she would accept nothing less.

"My pleasure." Cosette opened the door and ushered the delighted young woman inside.

"Oh my!" At first the little gasp of ecstasy was perceived as a response to the elegant interior of the flat, but when Cosette turned to close the door she saw that this strange girl was not staring at the furniture, but as Cosette herself.

"Oh my," she repeated. "You must be Colette! Nicolas has told me _all_ about you! I didn't realize you were such a beauty, the way he described you."

"And how was that?" asked Cosette, refraining from hissing, _It's Cosette, not Colette!_. She raised one eyebrow and tried to look interested.

"Well, when he said 'little sister'," the girl said chattily, "I pictured you being _much _smaller, but how old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen," confirmed Cosette, silently fuming. _Little sister? _At this point the two girls were in the kitchen, where Cosette was starting up a pot of tea.

"I'm Anne," said the girl, her voice chirpy and conversational. "Anne Robert. But I'm sure you've heard much about me from your brother." Anne relaxed against the counter and played with her hair.

This was how, half an hour later, Cosette found herself seated in a chair in the salon, watching Anne lounge on the sofa, her stole thrown aside and a cup full of tea sloshing around in one bare hand. Everything about the girl was both glamorous and unendingly irritating. Every statement she made was proceeded by an excited flash of the eyes and a sharp intake of breath, resulting in the swelling of her large breasts, which Cosette thought might be separate people in their own rights. When Anne was not speaking, but rather listening, she had a habit of looking off into space, turning her sickeningly elegant profile towards the speaker.

Right now, she was telling a story.

"But of _course _the baron's son agreed," she was saying, blind to the look of abject boredom on Cosette's face. " 'I will marry you!' he said to me. And you know what I did that night? I got dressed and woke my driver and rode all the way back to Paris before anyone knew I was missing! Of _course_, my parents were _aw_ful sore with me, but if they had seen that boy's terrible, lanky arms, they would have run away as well, I can promise you _that_!"

She concluded the recount with a burst of bubbly giggles that reminded Cosette of a champagne bottle opening after having been shaken up too much. She almost choked on her tea.

"Sounds exhilarating," she was just beginning to say when a terribly familiar sound came from the front hall. It was the door opening.

"He's all talk, I'm telling you," Nicolas was saying from the next room. "All he ever was." He was not alone.

"Give him a chance," Mathieu responded. "It's been six -" It was at this point in the conversation that the two boys entered the salon, and dropped off in mid-sentence.

"Anne," said Nicolas, his face going white.

"Cosette," muttered Mathieu, blushing. He threw a sideways glance at Nicolas, who was paying no attention.

"Anne here stopped by looking for you, Nicolas," said Cosette coldly, a forced smile on her face. "I let her in for tea. She was just telling me the story of her near engagement with a baron's son - weren't you, Anne?"

The brunette girl agreed, giggling again. "Your sister was kind enough to invite me in from the cold," Anne said. At the word "sister", Mathieu threw a surprising glance at Nicolas, who still seemed shell-shocked upon seeing the two girls together. Cosette stood up from the sofa, flattening out her skirts as she did so.

"Well, I'll leave you two to catch up," she said to Nicolas and Anne. "Apparently you had a rendezvous planned for tonight, if I am not mistaken." And with those final, cold words, she left the room, tears forming in her eyes. Instead of heading to the kitchen or her bedroom, however, Cosette made a beeline for the front door.

She had made it outside and halfway down the main staircase to the lobby before Mathieu caught up with her.

"Cosette?" he put one bony hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop her, but the girl kept going until she had almost reached the front door. What she planned on doing upon leaving, she did not know. She had no reason, no thought - just pure reaction.

"Cos_ette_?" Mathieu repeated more forcefully. "Listen-"

"What?" Cosette's voice was level and almost pleasant when she turned around to face her friend. She would have looked perfectly stable were it not for the glistening, dazed look in her eyes. A pin had fallen from her coiffure at some point, and a single limp tendril, the color of straw, was dangling by the edge of one lip.

"That girl," Mathieu hastened to explain. "Anne. She isn't what you think - "

"A rich whore who can't say my name?" Cosette asked evenly. "She had me fooled, alright." The sarcasm was subtle, but harsh.

"No…" Mathieu, for once, did not know how to explain himself.

"It's alright Mathieu," said Cosette, hardly hearing her own words. "I think I understand."

She pushed past him - he moved aside easily - and headed straight for the back door, which led out into the garden. Mathieu had to force himself not to follow her.

The air outside was bitterly cold, and immediately Cosette wrenched her sleeves down over her ungloved hands and took in a shuddering breath. When she exhaled, a white cloud obscured her vision.

It was insane to be outside in this weather, she thought with a faint pang of irony as she walked towards her usual bench, something unknown guiding her. There were tiny frozen droplets on the ends of the dead branches around her, and in the windless, moonless night, with the streets silent and the lamps glowing dimly, it seemed as though time might as well not have been moving.

Cosette reached her little bench. There was something set on top of it. Upon further investigation, she realized that it was a large, white envelope, beneath a substantial rock, placed there to keep the parcel from drifting away, no doubt.

She tossed the rock aside and opened up the package. Inside was a small stack of paper, each covered with loopy, neat writing. She began to read.

"_The reduction of the universe to a single being, the expansion of a single being even to God, that is love."_


	17. Christmas Revisited

**Chapter 17 : Christmas Revisited**

**

* * *

**

Each morning after that, she made a beeline for the bench as soon as the sun rose. The air in the garden was biting and bitter as the weather worsened, but nonetheless Cosette appeared at the back door of the building every dawn, a stolen coat of Nicolas' over her dress and a likewise borrowed scarf wrapped up to her radish-red nose.

"I can't see what in the world that girl is up to," commented Madame Prideux, an old cat in her seventies who lived in direct view of the garden's ornate entry. "Wrapped up in men's clothes, someone might go an' get the wrong idea."

Her husband shook his head as he pushed aside the curtains. "Pretty little thing," he murmured. The couple watched as Cosette, bundled up with her heavy braids piled atop her head, trouped carefully around the garden, watching where her feet fell. They could not see her eyes, but if they had they might have noticed a flash of disappointment as she slumped down to the bench.

On the morning of Christmas Eve, someone followed her.

_He hasn't left me anything else_, Cosette thought as her eyes scanned the frosted grass at her feet. The stone bench, an eerie blue in the early morning light, was bare.

_Or perhaps he comes and waits for me at night_. Cosette frowned beneath Nicolas' charcoal scarf. Did he think she would appear, under Nicolas' watchful eye? _Not that he matters_…

"Might I ask what you are doing outside at seven in the morning, dressed in my coat and scarf? Or is it some matter of utmost secrecy?"

Cosette stifled a surprised shriek at the unexpected voice behind her. _Nicolas_! she moaned inwardly. _What the hell am I supposed to tell him_?

"I…" She did not turn around to face him, instead keeping her eyes set firmly on the garden gates. She pretended to admire the wrought iron detailing. "I come out every morning. It's pleasant."

"Which is precisely why you're shivering," Nicolas reasoned, "in spite of being bundled up in stolen goods." He took a step towards her. "Little rebel, haven't I bought you enough pretty things of your own?"

_He's just mocking me_. Cosette tensed up, a little bubble of anger forming in her throat.

"You don't have to tell me. I won't say anything more about it, alright?"

_Just leave me alone, Nicolas. Can't you see I'm angry with you_?

"Well, we all have our secrets, right _cherie_? Speaking of which I th-"

Cosette whirled around, the scarf falling away from her round, red face. "_Damn it, Nicolas_! What did you come out here to do? _Mock me_?" She huffed a piece of dirty blonde hair our of her eyes, which seemed to flash with fire. To say Nicolas looked taken aback would be an understatement of the grossest sort. He actually stumbled a step or two before settling with a nearly pleased expression on his face.

"That's my girl," he said with a roguish smile. "I did _not_ come out here to mock you, Cosette. I came because we need to talk. There's… something I have to explain." He looked down at her narrowed eyes, losing a bit of their momentary spite. Reaching out with one hand, he fiddled with the folds of the scarf. "You look rather ridiculous. A bit like a gypsy, in fact, with this scarf. Not unpleasant."

Cosette blushed. "What do you have to explain?"

"What happened the other night."

There was a brief silence during which Cosette fiddled with one braid and chewed a bit on her lip. "Alright, then," she murmured, and Nicolas continued.

"I'm so sorry you had to meet Anne that way," he started. His voice was blunt and his tone was hurried, as if it was something he was afraid he would not get out were he to consider it. "I never meant for you to meet at all, and I realize now that that was something very foolish to even imagine." Pause. "Do you mind if I tell you about her? You won't get up and storm off? Should I fetch Com- er, Mathieu just in case?"

Cosette sighed. "I'll hear you out." She tried to smile.

"Alright then." Nicolas cleared his throat. "I guess I met her about two months ago. You know Bossuet? Well, they are acquaintances. Anne has an older half-sister or something of the sort who Bossuet fancies, so in what I guess was an attempt to rid himself of the younger sister he introduced her to me. So you see, I didn't go starting anyth-"

"I believe you. Continue."

Nicolas smiled sheepishly, as he did whenever Cosette snapped at him. "Well, Anne sort of latched on to me, as you can tell, and I'm sorry to say that I found her rather enchanting myself. She was very forward, much like someone I know and love." He looked down at Cosette, his grey eyes full of apology, but she kept her face firm as a stone.

"Someone," he added slowly, as if speaking to a child, "whom I was missing very much."

Cosette finally met his gaze. _The idiot… _"I was there all along, Nicolas. You didn't have to miss me. You could have just marched three yards down to my bedroom and said something!"

"I wanted to!" he replied, his eyes wide. "But I thought you were mad at me."

"I _was_," Cosette said with a shake of her head, "and I think you know why."

Nicolas took a deep breath and rubbed at his nosed, which was red and raw with the cold. "I'm so, so sorry, Cosette," he said quietly after a few moments. "I guess… that night at the café, when you met Marius…"

Cosette's heart skipped a beat at the name. What business did Nicolas have bringing up Marius? She felt her face flush. _He's mine. He's _my _secret. _Nicolas' voice ripped her out of her reverie:

"I guess," Nicolas continued, "that I got a little jealous."

Cosette gasped sharply, and there was a sudden jolt in her stomach. "You…" she stammered, "were jealous?" _This wasn't supposed to happen now. A few months ago, perhaps. But today?_

"You seemed so taken with him. I just… I guess I wished you looked at me that way." Nicolas ran a hand through his messy brown hair. In the freezing weather his freckles stood out more than usual, and he much more resembled the scrawny kid Cosette had known so many years ago, playing general under the old willow tree.

_The boy I thought I would fall in love with, _she added in her head.

"You mean that?" she asked, hardly louder than a whisper.

"As seriously as I've ever meant anything," he assured her with a nod. Carefully, he reached down and took her gloved hands. There was a deathly serious look about his boyish face, as if he was considering something with great detail. "Cosette," he said softly, meeting her befuddled gaze.

"I love you."

She choked on a breath, and a shudder went down her back. What does one say? "I…" She tried her best to keep focus as she looked up at his face, "love you too."

Something glimmered in Nicolas' eyes. Something joyful. A dazed grin widened across his freckled face. Then, as gently and quietly as the boy had ever done something, he leaned in close and kissed Cosette.

Cosette winced as her stomach jolted. It was like lightening had struck her - her eyelids went gold, and her whole body, from the tips of her braids to the ends of her numb toes, vibrated with a warm prickle. She found herself letting go of Nicolas' hands and clutching at his wool coat. But just as she was growing comfortable with the new, far from unpleasant feeling, it was over.

"Sorry," Nicolas mumbled in her ear, stepping backwards with a shy embarrassment.

Cosette's vision was hazy. She blinked like a newborn. "About what?"

"I was being forward." He looked down at her hesitantly. "I should have said something." His apology was awkward and sounded quite planned, as if it was not something he meant in the least.

"No," Cosette fumbled. "It was fine. It was perfect." _Do it again._

Nicolas grinned at her words, his fox-like face beginning to glow. He took her hands once more and motioned to the back door of the building.

"Well then, how about," he suggested with a smile, "you get dressed, and we find somewhere nice and warm to eat breakfast?"

Cosette, still buzzing with a new-found excitement, agreed eagerly. "Yes," she grinned gaily. "I would like that."

As they walked back towards the building, hand in hand, she glanced backwards out of habit. The bench was still empty, as was the ground around it.

To her surprise, she felt no distress.

* * *

"What's the matter? The little Lark en't come to meet you yet?"

Eponine leaned forward and examined her face in the mirror. The empty room behind her was lit dimly with grey light from the dirty window - her voice, cracked and quiet, was the only noise next to the winter wind.

"I didn't think she would," she continued, running bony fingers through her long, tangled hair. She wrapped the dirty strands into a crude semblance of a braid, and held it like a crown around her head. "Never mind her. I en't a lady, but I wouldn't never leave you like that." She pouted at her skinny, wraith-like appearance, and let the remains of her scanty sleeve fall down her shoulder a bit.

"For God's sake, Eponine," Marius said from the doorway. He did not finish the sentence, but his meaning was evident from the exasperation in his voice and on his round face. The redness of his bare fingers and the tip of his nose were signs of his long walk home from work.

"I don't got a mirror of my own," Eponine scowled, continuing to stare longingly at her reflection. Her feet tapped on the rough floor in the rhythm of a waltz.

Marius sighed and removed his coat, placing it on his mattress. It was frightfully cold, even inside, but the itching of the worn fabric cancelled out the warmth.

"You haven't spoken with your lady love, I presume?" Eponine asked, joining him next to the bed. She tried a pretty pout. She looked instead like a banshee with a bird's nest for hair.

"That is no business of yours."

Eponine licked her cracked lips. "I had a feeling she would show," she said in what was meant to be a wistful manner. "You should forget about her, Monsieur Marius." She let the chemise fall from her shoulder another few inches. It fell too far, revealing a flat, bare chest and a skeletal ribcage.

"I'll go back tonight," Marius said, no emotion in his voice. With that final word, he turned his back on Eponine and began to light a candle. "Now I would like some time to myself, Eponine. I have work to do."

"It's 'Ponine," she corrected him grimly. "Happy Christmas."

* * *

Cosette pulled the last pin out of her hair with a dramatic sigh of relief. Dirty blonde braids fell onto her shoulders, and ringlets dropped in front her eyes like worn springs.

"That feels amazing," she told Nicolas, placing the pins on a side table. "You have _no idea_ how heavy a topknot is."

Nicolas chuckled as he settled onto the sofa beside her, two glasses of wine in hand. He passed one to Cosette, who was trying her best to remove her hair from its tight braids. "_Merci_," she uttered. She held the glass like a real lady - after years working in a household she had acquired impeccable manners. These manners ended when she raised the glass to her lips. The red liquid had vanished in two long swigs, causing Nicolas to burst into laughter.

"What?" Cosette asked, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her dark green gown.

"You amaze me," was all Nicolas said. He moved closer to her on the cushions, and reached out to touch her face with his free hand. "You always have."

Cosette felt her face turn hot, and the warm tingle in her toes returned. Smiling like a smug child, she pulled her legs up onto the sofa and chewed on her bottom lip. "I love you," she whispered without hesitation. This time, she leaned upward to meet his lips.

"It's almost midnight," Nicolas whispered after awhile. His wine-tinged breath tickled Cosette's ear, and she had to stifle a giggle of joy. "We should go to bed."

Cosette blushed from head to toe as she caught his meaning. A sparkle of emotion in her big, grey eyes, she dipped her chin in an eager nod. "We should."

He carried her down the hall. As they passed the picture window overlooking the garden, neither saw the figure standing next to the gate, pale hands clutching at the frozen gates, big brown eyes set on the flat windows. He remained there until half past one, and with an oblivious, childlike determination, he turned back in the direction he had come, with the sinking feeling that he had been forgotten at last.

* * *

**Haha, do I even have to say it anymore?**


	18. A Change of Plans

The next couple of chapters will follow the same theme as this one. You'll see when you get to the end. So go forth and read.

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**Chapter Eighteen: A Change of Plans**

_April 1830_

"What do you think, Nic? There's a nice one with blueberries… Christian isn't allergic, is he?"

Nicolas gave a lazy shrug and continued to fiddle with his cravat. "Not that I remember." He peered in the mirror; in the reflection he could see Cosette sprawled across the sunlit bed, a yellowed cookbook held open by her index finger. Her white chemise and corset exactly matched the soft fabric of the unmade bed-sheets. It was somehow an image of both devilish pleasure and beautiful innocence.

She began reading aloud the cake recipe. "This doesn't sound too complicated," she said, smiling up at Nicolas. "Let me get dressed - I swear, I'll hurry! - and I can walk with you, and pick up what I need while you're in class."

Nicolas gave her a lopsided grin. "Ten minutes," he commanded with a chuckle, and the girl flung herself to her feet and rushed across the hall in a girlish fluster.

_Thank God for warm weather,_ she told herself as she rummaged through her wardrobe. There was a new powder blue number she was anxious to wear… but the peach gown flattered her small chest.

She returned from her bedroom twenty-two minutes later clothed in sage green, her sun lightened hair twisted and pinned into a sort of crown atop her head. "I can't believe Christian is eighteen," she said conversationally as she entered the kitchen. "Do you remember the Christmas you tricked him into thinking Indians were-"

Nicolas was not listening. He was sitting silently in a kitchen chair, his hunched back turned towards Cosette. From over his shoulder, she could see a short piece of paper, covered in small, neat script.

"Nic?" Cosette spoke no louder than a whisper. Her dress rustled uncomfortably as she went to kneel down beside Nicolas' chair, and she choked from the tightness of her stays. _Damn these things…_

"It's my father." Nicolas spoke without persuasion. His tone was strangely light for the stone-cold look on his face. "David, some new butler, wrote me. Etienne de Courfeyrac is dead, as of four days ago."

"Oh, Nic…" Cosette trailed off as she pulled herself to her feet. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." Nicolas smiled grimly. "_I'm_ not." He tossed the letter aside and pushed back his chair. "I have to head back to Gagny for the funeral, though. Family duty."

"What about," Cosette began, "… What about the estate? You were supposed to inherit it, remember?"

Nicolas nodded. "Something my dear father and I argued about quite a bit before his death. Fortunately, the old coot was so sour with me that he swore he would leave me out of his will entirely. I suppose he picked out a cousin of sorts instead."

"Wait," Cosette said, placing a hand on Nicolas' shoulder. "He's known about this for a long time, hasn't he?" It was not a question. "He's been sick since the fall. I know. I got a letter from Gavroche right before Christmas." She paused, ignoring a pin that had fallen out of her coiffure. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Nicolas looked up, his grey eyes hard to read. "We weren't speaking, Ettie. How was I supposed to tell you I was leaving you alone after what happened? You would have bitten my head off! You would have shown no mercy!" He managed a smile, and Cosette felt her heart flutter.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked quietly.

"A week at the longest," Nicolas answered. "It's rainy weather, so the roads might be tough. Oh, I almost forgot!" He pulled a small envelope out of a larger one on the table. Cosette recognized it before it was even in her hands.

"'Vroche!" she exclaimed, pulling his letter out in an instant.

_Dear Ettie_, it read in his tell-tale print. _You know what happened to M. de Courfeyrac, I am sure. We are all very sad preparing for the funeral. He was sick for a long time though and Angelette says he is happier now. But there is a problem. With M. de Courfeyrac gone, most of the staff will be replaced. I am included. I have nowhere to go. Can I come to Paris and live with you and Nicolas if it is not a trouble? I miss you a lot. - Gavroche._

Cosette whirled around to face Nicolas. "Can he, Nic?" she gasped. "Can he live with us?"

Nicolas raised an eyebrow, and a smirk appeared on his face. "He can have your room. Now you have a decent excuse."

* * *

The carriage departed early the next afternoon. Nicolas leaned his head out the door and gave Cosette a final peck on the cheek. More extensive goodbyes had been said the previous night, and much of the early morning as well.

"Do you think the cake will keep?" Cosette asked eagerly, motioning to the carefully wrapped parcel in Nicolas' lap.

"I'll make sure it does," Nicolas assured her for the third time. His expression was one of adoration, however, as he looked down at Cosette from his cushioned seat.

"Make sure to tell Angelette-" Cosette was interrupted.

"That you say 'hello' and 'hope to see her again sometime'," Nicolas recited. "I know, love. Now be good. I told Mathieu to make sure you don't hold any particularly raucous soirees."

"How terribly oppressive of you!" Cosette joked. Her face fell. "I'll miss you. Bring back Gavroche safe and sound."

"Would imagine otherwise." The carriage finally began to draw away. Nicolas pulled his door shut. The two waved until the carriage turned the corner.

Cosette waited a few more silent moments in front of the building before turning back to the door. The sky was clear and the brightest blue imaginable. It seemed a day for a picnic or a stroll, not for missing someone. "From Heaven to Hell," mused Cosette aloud, "in a matter of hours." The phrasing sounded tragic and appealing. Then, a pleasant idea came to mind. _I never made Christian a birthday cake!_ It was a perfect plan to pass the time.

The now familiar process of creating a cake was like a body function to Cosette. She knew exactly where to find her materials, and had the change ready before she reached the counter. Today her mission was blueberries. She swung her customary basket around one arm as she picked through a table of fruits.

"He's one bottle of wine away from being thrown from the building, I swear to you."

"He has a mind, Julien, somewhere in there."

Cosette's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Mathieu's gentle voice. She nearly dropped her basket in the process of turning to catch the attention of the passing boys. "Mathieu!" she called. The tall, auburn-haired boy stopped in his tracks, then broke into a joyful grin.

"Cosette! The little rebel!" He threw his arms around her in what was, for once, a just barely awkward embrace. "Where on Earth have you been?" he asked, pulling away.

"Not at the café as much as I would have liked." She pulled a face of mock-irritation, but in the middle of the sneer she caught sight of the boy standing a few feet back from Mathieu.

He was a god. There was little doubt about it. A bit short and less than a muscular paragon, it was true, but with pure golden hair framing an angelic face…

Cosette caught herself before her daydreaming ran away with her. It was no god. It was Julien Enjolras, the spoiled brat from her childhood.

"Julien?" she pretended to be delighted as she sauntered over greet him. She gave her dark blonde curls a gentle shake. _I'll show him. I'm no maid anymore._

"Cosette, was it?" Julien Enjolras looked at Mathieu for confirmation. "My, how you've grown up!" He was far less enthusiastic than the other boys had been, but he gave her a dazzling white smile as she curtseyed.

Mathieu averted any long silence by informing Julien, "Cosette is living with Nicolas now."

The fair-haired boy's eyebrows went up. Cosette wanted to give Mathieu a swift kick and hiss,_ "Not like that!"_, but she remembered that this time, that would be a lie. Instead, she just smiled and nodded.

_That's me, the whore_. Eponine's words echoed briefly in her thoughts: _Bedding down with the rich ones, eh?_ It had a nice ring to it. Cosette had a brief daydream in which she was the famed mistress of a wealthy married man, waited on by ten servants and offered chocolate truffles while lying on a bed the size of a small kitchen.

"And Cosette, I believe you met our friend Pontmercy some time ago?"

The fantasy vanished, and Cosette's thoughts snapped into reality like a harsh whip. _Pontmercy. Marius Pontmercy_.

"G… Good day," Cosette managed as the puppy-eyed boy stepped into view, "Monsieur Pontmercy."

"Same to you," Marius stammered, "Mademoiselle…"

"Cosette," she corrected him. "It's just 'Cosette'." _How embarrassing… I haven't got a surname_! She performed an awkward curtsey, a pin coming loose at the back of her head as she did so. Clearing her throat she continued, "I don't believe we've met since December. How have you been?"

Marius smiled in his gentle, lopsided way. "Well," he said. "And you?"

"Excellent." Cosette tried her hardest to keep up a joyful grin, when in reality her head was spinning, her thoughts screaming, _Marius! What do I say? How do I act? What do I think? _The latter thought was particularly troubling.

"How has Nicolas been coming along?" Marius asked, choking on the first couple of words. Cosette noted with relief that Mathieu and Enjolras had continued walking. She motioned for Marius to follow.

"He's been busy," she answered in a vague half-truth. "I've never seen him try so hard for something in his life."

"Lawyer, correct?" Marius asked conversationally.

"Mm-hmm." Cosette nodded. She was very aware that her hair was finding its way out of its pins, and out of her bonnet. She cursed in her head, remembering how flustered she had been about Nicolas' departure. She had not bothered long with her appearance. "What have you been doing?"

"Right now," said Marius, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, "I'm learning German. I translate for a living."

Cosette tried to hide her bewilderment. She had never heard of such a job before, and from what Nicolas had told her Marius was studying to be a lawyer. He obviously saw some sort of look on her face, for he quickly added, "While I get enough money to continue my studies, that is."

"That's great!" Cosette replied, raising her eyebrows to demonstrate enthusiasm.

Marius smiled meekly. "It doesn't pay much, but it's enough to get by." There was a brief silence. "Combeferre told me you grew up in the country. How do you like Paris?"

"I _adore _it!" exclaimed Cosette, giving him her most charming smile. "So much going on, unlike Gagny. Of course, the de Courfeyrac household was always fairly exciting..." _Oh no,_ she thought with an inward grimace. _He doesn't know I was a serving girl..._

Sure enough Marius asked, looking puzzled, "You lived with Nicolas before you moved here?"

Cosette nodded. She prayed briefly that Marius would not get the wrong impression of her past. "I was a serving girl in his house, ever since I was eight. I grew up working for a family in Monfermeil, but I ran away and ended up with the de Courfeyracs instead. I came here with Nicolas so that I could look for my mother."

Marius nodded with understanding and approval. His eyes were wide and interested when he said, "That's some story. Your mother lives in Paris?"

"No," Cosette answered. She could hardly believe she was giving away her life story to a perfect stranger, but Marius was so innocent! "I don't know where she lives, truth to tell. Some place by the sea. It's out west, I believe. But one thing I do know is that I was born in Paris."

"I certainly hope your search goes well," said Marius.

Cosette smiled. "And I as well. Tell me - what is your family like?"

"Well," began Marius, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand, "I live with my grandfather. He's grotesquely wealthy-" (Cosette let out a snort of laughter) "-and I'm afraid he rather despises me."

"Sounds like Nicolas' - er, Courfeyrac's - father." Cosette gave him an encouraging grin. "Go on."

Marius' voice became darker as he continued. "My mother passed away when I was very young. I never knew her. My father, however, died just last year. I never knew him either. It's a complicated story."

Cosette made a noise of pity. "I'm so sorry." She pondered for a moment. "I don't have a father either, and I guess I don't really have a mother. I remember nothing about her, except that she has blonde hair. Not really much to go by."

The conversation continued in friendly, mildly meaningful monotony. She felt a small sense of freedom at having explained her family situation with another person. It was an understood between she and Nicolas - something that had emerged over almost seven years of knowing one another. But here she was, speaking it all at once for the first time. Marius listened interestedly, and Cosette returned the favor when he went into his own amusing stories of his grandfather's household. Cosette laughed at his childhood social blunders; Marius laughed at Cosette's stories of Nicolas, Mathieu, and Jehan as children.

"Courfeyrac has not changed a great deal, I see," Marius commented as Cosette explained their extensive games of War.

"No," Cosette agreed, "he has not. I'm afraid he still has a bit of growing up to do."

As Cosette sauntered beside Marius in the warm April sun, she could not help imagining poor Nicolas headed to Gagny in a jostling carriage. Was she doing him an injustice? He had told her himself that he was jealous of Marius. But now that he and Cosette had... she blushed, censoring the thought from her head. It seemed devilish in the presence of boyish Marius.

_I still love Nicolas_, she consoled herself. _I'm simply speaking with Marius. This is not a crime. _And that was that.


	19. The Wasps' Nest Developed

**A very short update (881 words, I think), but what comes next in the story just didn't really fit with this chapter so I decided to go ahead and post.**

**An important note which most of you probably would have gone along with anyway if I hadn't mentioned it: I am changing the entire timeline. The story and ages have now been entirely moved up one year, making Cosette 16, Nicolas 18, Mathieu 20, et cetera. It is now APRIL 1831 in IAR-Land. I just didn't want to write another whole year before the barricades, so I went ahead with a massive plot hole instead.**

**I do not own _Les Miserables._**

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**Chapter Nineteen: The Wasps' Nest Developed**

By an incomprehensible miracle, Cosette attended every meeting the boys held that week. They called themselves _l'ABC_, a term which Cosette pretended to understand. When she at first heard of their beliefs about liberty and such, she developed a secret fear that their society was a religious one. The girl had never been one of faith, despite Angelette's piety and insistence. She was relieved to learn that, with the exception of a couple, the group was primarily pagan. It was a puzzle at first as to why she was allowed into the exclusive back room of the Cafe, but she deduced after a short while that it had something to do with an argument on Mathieu's part - something about her safety living alone at night. Either way, Cosette was grateful.

She was already acquainted with the majority of the boys, namely Jehan, Joly, Enjolras, and especially Mathieu. Introductions to the others came promptly, however.

Cosette had met Bossuet briefly some months ago, she recalled, during her first months in Paris. He had a young, pleasant face and a starkly bald head, but he appeared only slightly older than Nicolas. Bossuet's manners, Cosette noted, not without a slight flurry of attraction, were impeccable. It would be very easy for a woman to fall for him, she realized, remembering Nicolas' story about Anne and her older half-sister.

If Bossuet was quiet, well-mannered, and sweet, Tristan Bahorel was his human antipodean (a term picked up from Mathieu). Bahorel was a tall, brash man with a raucous laugh and impossibly broad shoulders, who did not refrain from swearing in the presence of Cosette. He struck her as smutty and exciting, for unlike a few of the other boys his vocabulary was not beyond the girl's comprehension. She had never been particularly interested in the technicalities of history and government. Bahorel spoke her language.

The third unfamiliar boy was undoubtedly Cosette's favorite. He was slender and pale, with vibrant, slightly rogueish eyes and short dark hair that was held down by a worn hat. All of his clothes, in fact, were worn nearly to the point of being threadbare. His friends called him Feuilly, but through casual interrogation Cosette learned that his given name was Luc. The most attractive aspect of this quiet young man was not his appearance, however. When meetings ran long and conversation became isolated between a selected few, Cosette watched as Luc Feuilly meticulously pulled painting supplies from a leather sac and began to paint. Not on canvas, however. He painted fans, delicate little things. Flowers, people, landscapes, Cosette was enthralled by it all. She kept her eye on this boy.

For the duration of their long, nightly discussions, Cosette usually thumbed through a novel or schoolbook (Mathieu _must _explain chemistry to her - it looked so interesting, but the markings and symbols were nonsensical). She had a customary chair in between Mathieu and Marius, the latter of whom had taken up "secretly" glancing at her during meetings. In a simpler language, she could feel his eyes on the side of her head constantly. She could not decide whether to be flattered or bothered. Nicolas stared at her all the time, whether she was reading, eating, or pretending to be asleep. This was different, however. Nicolas' look was full of mischief, good humor, and adoration of all sorts. Marius' was full of love - love of the purest sort.

Cosette wasn't quite sure how she felt about the "pure" part. In Nicolas' absence, however, it was something she could accept.

It was not a secret that Cosette's presence irritated some of the Friends - specifically, Julien Enjolras.

"How much longer is Courfeyrac going to be gone?" he asked Mathieu one night. His voice was loud enough that it carried to Cosette, who was finishing up a page of her book over in the corner. She had a feeling she was meant to hear it, and she pulled a grimace in the blonde boy's direction. If he saw it he did not react.

"At least five." Mathieu thought for a moment. "Maybe four. Events at his home were always elaborate and drawn out. And then, there's the matter of-" He cut off suddenly, causing Cosette to frown.

"What is it?" she asked cautiously, standing up. "His father's will?"

Mathieu nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, the will. There's the matter of the will."

Enjolras narrowed his eyes, wary of the uncertainty in Mathieu's answer, but he voiced no objection. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow night," he said sharply. "Seven o' clock."

When the room was otherwise emptied, Cosette turned to Mathieu, confusion obvious in her eyes. "What's so damned complicated about Monsieur Etienne's will?"

"It's not so much a legal complication," Mathieu responded, "as it is a personal matter. See, all Nicolas wants out of it is the money. He doesn't want a house or property. That's going to go to some cousin or another if he refuses it, he figures. I guess you could say he just wants to stake his claim before someone tries to take the house _and _the money."

"Christ," exclaimed Cosette. "Hope _I_ don't have to deal with any of that."

Mathieu grinned. "The de Courfeyrac's are just possessive people. Otherwise it wouldn't be so complicated."

* * *

**A ridiculously short chapter, but it got some necessary intros out of the way, so somewhere down the road I don't have to be like, " 'blah blah blah,' said Bossuet, who looked like such and such and had no hair and et cetera." You get the point.**


	20. Advancement and Adversaries

**I have a good excuse for the lateness of this chapter. I was halfway through it some month ago when I exited out and, not being used to the word processor in my new MacBook, hit the "Don't Save" button. Naughty, naughty Giz. Please enjoy the poor melodrama that is Chapter 20.**

**I do not own _Les Miserables_.**

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**Chapter Twenty: Advancement and Adversaries**

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"Would you like to take a walk with me, Cosette?"

From the way Marius looked when he posed the question, Cosette could tell he had never asked a girl such a thing before. His eyes, so large and hopeful, made fleeting contact with her own. He appeared to be blushing all the way down to his scuffed shoes.

"Of course," Cosette answered enthusiastically. She hoped her smile was not too bold. Nicolas had once told her that, unless she was reading or working, she had the inability to be anything other than incredibly enthusiastic, frightfully furious, or morbidly depressed. There was no happy, sad, or angry with Cosette. Nothing lukewarm. It was always one extreme or another.

They were standing outside of a small cafe near the river, having just finished up eating with Mathieu and Joly. Bossuet, red-faced and panting, had joined them just as they were cleaning their plates. He rattled out a farcical story involving a misplaced coin purse and broken fiacre wheel, which had Cosette in silent stitches the whole way through. Now, she began to follow Marius in the direction of the Luxembourg Gardens. Her movement was stopped by Mathieu's gentle voice behind her.

"Before you leave," he said, motioning her towards him, "I got a letter from Nicolas this morning. It was sent the day he was to arrive in Gagny. The funeral and the controversy over the will had been mostly settled without him, and he should be home late on the 29th."

Cosette felt a grin spread on her face. "That's tomorrow!"

"Take care," Mathieu said with a nod and a caring smile. He waved goodbye to Marius. The latter, who appeared to have been lost in thought, reacted with a clumsy bow of his head which caused his dark curls to fall in front of his face.

"So," Marius began as soon as they rounded the corner and fell out of sight of the others. He did not offer Cosette his arm. "Courfeyrac - er, Nicolas to you - returns tomorrow?"

Cosette tried unsuccessfully to hide some of her excitement. She did not want to alienate the poor boy. "Yes. And he's bringing my little brother with him!"

"You have a little brother?" Marius sounded interested.

"Mm-hmm. His name is Gavroche, and he's ten years old." She added after a short pause, "We aren't actually related. He technically belongs to the family I used to work for, but they mistreated him. I just took him with me when I left." Marius gave a little hum of approval.

"Why am I not surprised?" he jested.

Cosette gave a flirtatious smile and took his arm with a gentle tug; Marius blushed harder.

It was Sunday, and the park was a colorful blur of frilly dresses, picked flowers, and pastel bonnets. It seemed every young woman in Paris was enjoying the mild weather with a lover or husband. A plump bee buzzed across the path in front of Cosette's nose; it was like a scene from a children's book. Cosette could almost hear Madame Thenardier describing the park in her bawdy voice, her daughters' eyes lighting up as she told them about the different flowers in bloom.

The mid-afternoon passed in tranquility as Cosette and Marius continued to swap stories of their childhoods. They turned onto a narrower path mottled with specks of light, where they could hear less of the afternoon chatter and more of the birds around them. Cosette was just going into detail about a situation involving Jean Prouvaire and Bonnie the dog, when a sudden movement off the right side of the path caught her attention. There was a rustle in the large bushes, followed by a tiny squeak of distress. Cosette let go of Marius' arm and looked just in time to see a petite shadow vanishing through the underbrush. There was something familiar about its spidery way of moving...

"Hello?" Cosette called, throwing Marius an apologetic look. "Hey, stop!" She took a large step into the scratchy bushes, much to the bewilderment of the meek boy behind her, and reached through the branches until her hand grasped something something thin and greasy - a familiar head of hair.

"Ep-" she started to scold, but as the little girl clambered out onto the path she recognized a different grubby face - Azelma Thenardier.

"You pryin' bitch," the girl snarled. "I en't saying a thing, so let me go." If Eponine was a dirty, tragic sight, her little sister was a smaller yet tremendously amplified version. Hair that might have been blonde stuck out at strange angles from around a bony, circular face, into which were set deep brown eyes. Where Eponine's spidery frame rose at least two inches above Cosette, Azelma did not even reach her shoulder. She was like a ghost child, the exact color and texture of dirty linen.

"You are _too_ saying something." Cosette frowned. "You have no right to be watching me."

"Who says I was watchin' you?"

"Why else would you be so secretive?"

Marius was observing the entire scene with sheer horror.

Azelma finally managed to yank her wrist from Cosette's grip, and she wasted no time in recoiling like an attacked snake. "Keep your eyes open, Lark," she spat suddenly. In an instant she had taken off for the exit of the garden, nimble as a dark little fairy. She disappeared around a corner, leaving both Cosette and Marius wide-eyed and gaping.

"Well," Cosette said after a moment, "I wonder what that was about?" She tried to stay calm, but her mind was turning cartwheels. _Keep your eyes open, Lark_. What was Azelma talking about? Was Cosette in danger?

"Maybe you had, uh, better get home..." Marius' face was regaining some color. He had obviously never seen such a spat between girls before, and while few things about Cosette seemed to surprise him this was apparently too much.

Cosette agreed. "I suppose so. Listen, I'll be fine once we get back to the flat. Don't trouble yourself after that-"

Marius gave her a shocked expression. "I won't let you stay there alone!" His voice was surprisingly passionate, though he stumbled over his words as usual. "I'll get you back to your flat, and then I'll send for Combeferre if you prefer that."

_He's desperate_, Cosette thought with a slight satisfaction. "Alright," she said softly. Having Mathieu around would be a bigger comfort, she decided, than this bumbling boy. "But there's no need to send for anyone. I'll be perfectly fine by myself, Marius. I've lived alone for the past week, haven't I?"

Marius seemed torn for a moment, but his shaky determination soon gave way to a look of pathetic resignation. "As you wish," he replied quietly. "But be careful, and bolt the doors!"

Cosette couldn't help but giggle to herself. "I'll be sure to."

* * *

_What kind of mischief could she have in mind? There's hardly anything threatening about Azelma, or her family if they're involved. _It had been an hour since the puzzling confrontation, and Cosette, locked safely in the empty flat, was still puzzling over Azelma's thus-far-empty threat. _Lord, this is so boring!_

She had already finished a historical textbook from Nicolas' bookshelf, and had moved on to preparing a cake. It was plain white, since she lacked any special ingredients, but she was sure Nicolas would enjoy it upon his return home.

_Damn, _she thought suddenly. _I don't have enough flour... _She looked tiredly at the lacking ingredients. It would have to be a very small cake.

The baking occupied her for exactly ten more minutes, but once she had the cake baking she began to grow terribly bored. Where on Earth were Mathieu and Marius? She was not particularly worried for her own safety, as Azelma's threat still seemed rather empty, but the anticipation was starting to get to her now that the sun was going down. She had already had to light a candle in the kitchen, which was naturally darker than the rest of the flat. Soon it would begin to look gloomy. Though she would never admit it aloud she hated staying in the flat when it was dark. It was this feeling that, after another few minutes, drove her to collect a new book, a key to the front door, and head outside to the garden.

It was much more pleasant in back of the building. There was little life on the street due to the day and the time. The sun had already set behind the roof, casting a gloomy shadow over the entire garden. Still, it was a peaceful place, and Cosette soon lost herself in the book.

The sun was almost entirely gone when she remembered that her friends would probably wonder if they found her flat empty. Reluctant, she closed the book, noted briefly that Marius had been silly to worry in the first place, and headed back towards the building.

She was some twenty feet from the door when a rough, dirty hand closed over her mouth. She was aware of nothing more.


	21. An Unlikely Situation

**Recap of chapter twenty since it's been over two months: Nicolas is on his way home from the funeral, fugly little Azelma blurts out a cryptic warning in the park, Marius freaks because his lady love nearly gets into a cat fight, Cosette's nonchalance about the whole thing leads to her kidnapping, and... here we are.**

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**Chapter Twenty-One: An Unlikely Situation**

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Cosette woke up gagging. There was an awful taste in her throat and her tongue felt as thick and coarse as canvas. She made a move to wipe her mouth, but with a jolt in her gut she realized something both terrible and extraordinary: she had been bound and gagged. When she moved her jaw she bit down on heavy fabric, and upon opening her throbbing eyes she was met with the blackness of a blindfold.

She was sitting on the floor, her back against a hard surface and her knees pushed down to one side. Through the cloth of the blindfold she could barely make out a square of filtered light across from her - a window. The air smelled of sweat and dust.

_I think I read a story like this somewhere. _Cosette's mind raced. How many of her favorite heros had escaped from similar situations with minimal means and sheer bravery? She had a brief fantasy in which she broke free of her restraints and knocked out her captors, all with her blindfold firmly in place. She was just picturing herself escaping down a side street, her tousled hair billowing like a cape, when a hoarse, familiar voice broke into her thoughts.

"Comfortable, dear little Lark?" There was a raspy chuckle, and Cosette felt her hair stand on end. Her long forgotten fears rushed back - this was the moment she had dreaded like death so many months ago. The adrenaline of the moment seeped away and she felt like a child once more.

There were gritty footsteps as another figure moved across the room. He obscured the light from the window. "'Ponine en't back, the little bitch."

The man Cosette recognized to be Jaques Thenardier snorted in response. "Whore backs out'a everything these days."

It came as no surprise that his daughters had had a part in this. Cosette cursed herself for not having heeded Azelma's words.

"What do you want?" Cosette tried to form the words, but with the thick fabric in her mouth it came out in a slur of grunts and vowels, and she wound up gagging on her tongue. The men chuckled, mocking her distress, and Cosette sensed a third figure somewhere in front of her.

"What I lost when you pulled your little stunt." Thenardier sounded as contemptuous as his weedy voice would allow. "Told your whore mother you'd got yourself drowned. She wouldn't even help pay for the funeral. Wasn't long till 'Ponine found out you weren't really dead. You'd run away, 'n taken our boy with you." He ended his tirade with a coughing fit.

Cosette squirmed against her constraints, trying to loosen the gag. "Why?" she moaned into the cloth, warranting another round of laughter. She did not understand - why was he so intent on revenge for her escape? It had been almost eight years. What Eponine had accused her of so long ago made little sense. In what way did Cosette's absence cost them their well being?

She did not wonder for long; Thenardier answered her silent question. "Your mother's money was our income. We fell into debt, lost the inn. All 'cause of you." He spat the last word, and Cosette could picture his red face, contorted with anger.

"Tha's where you come in, missy." This voice was deeper and came from the far side of the room.

Trembling, Cosette attempted to speak again. This time two rough hands pushed her head forwards, swiftly untied the gag, and ripped it from her mouth. She choked for several moments, wincing at what was sure to become an ugly bruise. "How?" she rasped. "I don't have any..."

"My daughters tell me you're the whore of a rich student."

The plan all came together at once, and Cosette felt sick to her stomach. This kidnapping was for ransom money - money from Nicolas.

_A hero would bluff_, she thought to herself, but it was useless. Thenardier wouldn't get what he wanted until Nicolas got back to Paris, which was at least a day away. Even when Nicolas returned, he would not know where Cosette was. No one had witnessed the kidnapping, and no one knew about her past with the Thenardiers.

"He's not here." She bowed her head and spoke in a quiet voice. "Let me go me now and I'm sure he'll pay you when he returns." She did not mean to plead, but she could feel a bubble of hysteria rising in her throat.

There was a long pause, and Cosette wished more than anything that she could see Thenardier's face. Finally, he spoke: "You're lying."

"I'm telling the truth!" Cosette's heart was pounding. She felt hot tears welling up around her eyes. "He went to Gagny! He's been gone for days, I swear it!"

"You think she's lyin'-" The deep voice was cut off by a grunt from Thenardier and a response which Cosette did not understand. She squinted against the black fabric, to no avail. There was no way to escape - she couldn't even see her surroundings.

"Idiot." Thenardier's voice carried like a broken whisper. "Where's the money in that?" There were creaky footsteps as he crossed the room.

Cosette twisted her ankles back and forth, trying to loosen the bindings while the men were talking. Suddenly, the heel of her boot caught on the fabric. Her breath caught in her throat. If she moved the other foot the same way... Pushing her feet as far under her skirts as she could manage, she kept working at the rope, praying no one would see her.

" ... Go get Lucia. We'll have to stay ... "

Cosette bit her lip in concentration. She almost had her foot free.

"This address is on the note, you imbecile." At any moment they would finish their hushed conversation and notice her.

There was a loud knock on the door and the room went silent. Cosette froze, praying her ankles would not be seen.

"Who is is?" Thenardier sounded like an irritated terrier.

The answer was muffled, but a moment later someone fiddled with the bolt and the door swung open with a harsh grating.

"Sorry, Papa." It was Eponine, sounding short of breath. Her frail figure moved in front of the window. "It won't happen again."

The man closest to Cosette snorted. "Who were you with this time, deary?"

"Just 'Parnasse, you gotta a problem with it?" Eponine barked back. The man chortled.

"Funny thing, your bein' with 'Parnasse." Thenardier spoke slowly. "You see, he's been 'round here just a quarter hour ago." He made another move, and Eponine let out a soft whimper. Cosette held her breath. Never had she heard the weedy innkeeper so much as chide one of his daughters. This was the tone he had once used with Cosette.

"Bitch." There was a thud as someone hit the floor, and the room was silent once more. "The note's in place?"

"Yes, Papa." Her voice was quieter than ever.

There was a second knock on the door. "'S' probably Lucia by now." Someone made a move towards the door. Cosette trembled, remembering the Medusa-haired Thenardiess. _Oh God, let someone find me!_

Several things happened at once. As soon as the door creaked open, there was a loud scuttle as several people entered the room. Thenardier cried out in anger, but before Cosette could grasp the situation a voice screeched, "Get up!" and a small, rough hand was pulling her to her feet. The undone rope fell away from her ankles, and she blindly stumbled after Eponine. Several people were shouting now - among them was an authoritative voice which made Cosette's heart swell. The police had arrived.

"Let go!" Cosette tried to yank her arm away from Eponine's, but sharp nails dug into her wrist.

"Shut your mouth!"

They were outside now. The air was clean, and the shouts of Thenardier and his gang sounded far away. All at once, they stopped moving. Cosette felt Eponine's fingers on her wrists, then on the back of her head. The bindings were gone. She could see again.

The night sky was black as tar, and for a moment Cosette thought she must be blind. She blinked hard and rubbed at her throbbing eyes. The moon was hidden by a thick veil of clouds, and not a window on the street was lit.

"C'mon." Eponine took her wrist again and motioned towards the end of the street. Cosette wrinkled her brow as she took in the urchin's appearance. She seemed thinner and paler than ever, as if she was made from white draperies pinned to a skeleton.

"What the hell's going on?" Cosette tried to sound harsh, but her voice cracked from disuse. Her breath caught as Eponine dragged her around the corner.

Eponine didn't say anything. "Monsieur!" She stuck one arm in the air, waving, and for the first time Cosette noticed a dark figure leaning on the streetlamp just ahead. "Just as I promised - one lovely maiden, alive and well." Eponine gave Cosette a blunt shove ...

... and she stumbled right into the arms of Mathieu Combeferre.

"My God, Cosette, I thought we'd lost you!" He pulled her into a tight embrace. "When Marius told me you'd been threatened..."

Cosette pulled away. She felt dizzy, disoriented. "He told you about it?" Her voice was hardly louder than a whisper.

"Of course." Mathieu looked puzzled. "He said you'd agreed to let me come stay with you."

"I never agreed. I ... I thought I'd be alright."

"Our little rebel," Mathieu muttered caustically. "Cosette, you have to be more careful. If it wasn't for Eponine here, we never would have known what had happened to you."

Confused, Cosette turned to face the gamine. Hovering near the shadowy stoop, Eponine looked like the ghost of a sad child, belonging neither to one world nor the other. She offered what might have been a sheepish smile, and for a long time no one said anything.

"Thank you." Cosette nodded in Eponine's direction.

"My pleasure." She sank farther into the shadows.

Mathieu laid a hand on Cosette's shoulder. "You'd better stay at my flat tonight, just in case. Shall we get going?" Dazed, Cosette nodded and took his arm. For the first time in her life, she was feeling faint.

When Cosette turned her head one final time, Eponine had vanished.

* * *

**I know I have some readers who are big Patron Minette fans (cough Loony cough), and I know I performed an awful injustice by not even including the canon characters. But the other reason this chapter was giving me so much trouble is that I've never been too interested in Patron Minette, and I just couldn't make myself write from the canon. That's why I cheated and didn't include any names or facts. Shame on Giz, I know. Just imagine your favorite villains in place of Unnamed Men Numbers 1 and 2. It's like one of those Choose Your Adventure stories, only not at all.**


	22. Reunions

**I'm so thrilled to be working on this story again ^_^ It makes me feel flowery and intelligent. **

**I do not own _Les Miserables_. **

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**Chapter Twenty-Two: Reunions**

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"They wanted his money?"

Cosette nodded, fiddling with the ends of her disheveled hair. Mathieu's flat consisted of three small rooms with just four dirty windows, but it was better than staying alone in luxury. She watched as Mathieu rummaged through his kitchen cabinets for a tea cup.

"Better someone's money than their life." Mathieu inspected a rather chipped cup for dust. Satisfied, he poured the tea and passed the steaming cup to Cosette. She thanked him and took a thirsty gulp, ignoring how it burned her tongue. She still had the gritty feel of the gag in her mouth.

There was a long silence as Mathieu poured his own tea and took the seat across from Cosette. They sipped their drinks without speaking until Mathieu finally said, "You must be exhausted. I'll sleep in the front room - you can have the bed if you like."

Cosette nodded blearily. Her entire body ached, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down and forget all that had happened. She wanted to wake up in the morning and remember it as nothing more than a frightful dream. After all, she had a carefree life. This was a one-time worry. Tomorrow Nicolas would be home, and she would finally be reunited with Gavroche.

The bedroom was small and cluttered, but as soon as Cosette's head met the mattress she fell into a fitful sleep filled with dark, fleeting dreams. A red faced giantess shouted curses at a frail little girl; a hollow-eyed gamine stared out of a shadowy crevice; a hundred weary figures labored in a dank factory; a beautiful woman wept over a piece of parchment. Cosette was standing in a storm of dust, yelling for someone over the endless roar of gunfire -

"Cosette! Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Cosette yelped as something pounced on the mattress, tossing her to one side. She opened her eyes to the glare of sunlight, an unusual pressure on her chest, and a familiar pair of grey eyes staring down at her, full of wild concern.

"Nicolas!" She nearly bumped heads in the struggle to sit up, but in an instant his arms were locked around her and her eyes were brimming with tears of relief. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." His breath tickled her ear. "I couldn't get here fast enough when I arrived home to _this_." Pulling back, he produced a crumpled piece of paper with some large, careful writing on it.

_Monsieur, do not be alarmed.__ Cosett is not here but she is safe. Your friend Monsieur Combefer is watching over her. Please tell her I am sorry about my father. He will not try to hurt her again I will make sure. A friend, Eponine Thenardier. _

Cosette was silent for a long time. Eponine was trying to protect her? It did not seem possible, though there was every clue to suggest it.

"I can't believe this." She looked up at Nicolas. "After how horrible she's been to me..."

Nicolas was bewildered. "You know her?"

_I never told him... _"I grew up with her," she explained. "She was awful to me, along with her horrible parents."

"It was her family you ran away from? And they kidnapped you eight years later?" Nicolas was astounded by this sudden news. "That's mad! How did they know you were in Paris?"

Cosette told Nicolas about the times that she had seen Eponine in the street, and about Azelma's cryptic warning in the park. "They've probably been planning this for a long time. They knew I had connections with rich students, and they wanted to take advantage of that."

"That's what Mathieu told me." Nicolas rubbed at his temples. "Next time your life is in danger I would like to know, if you don't mind."

Cosette laughed. "I'll be sure to give you fair warning."

Nicolas pushed her back onto the mattress and gave her a thorough kiss. When they broke apart some time later he smiled and said, "There's someone in the kitchen who would like to see you."

Cosette could not leap off the bed fast enough. Nearly tripping over her skirts, she darted through the sitting room and into the kitchen, catching herself on the molding around the doorway. Seated at the kitchen table, a piece of buttered bread in his small hand, was Gavroche.

"Ettie!" He dropped his breakfast and hurried to meet Cosette. At nine years old he hardly reached her shoulder, and he had no more meat on his bones than he had the year before. His light brown hair was growing over his eyes and his clothes seemed far too big for his bony frame.

"'Vroche! I've missed you so much!"

Mathieu looked up from his newspaper and smiled at the embracing pair. "And thus a bleak night ends in happiness."

Cosette wore an enormous grin on her heart-shaped face. "Nic, I can't thank you enough!"

"Anytime." Nicolas sauntered through the sitting room, adjusting his cravat. "By the way, I have an, uh, surprise for you."

"What is it?" Cosette's elation dwindled at the uncomfortable look on her best friend's face.

"You see," he began, sounding hesitant, "my father left the entire estate to me in his will, but as you know I didn't want it. I gave it up to my older cousin, Constantin." He watched Cosette closely as he spoke. "Unfortunately ... my father's flat is a part of that."

Cosette furrowed her brow. Give up the broad windows, the elegant bathtub, the private garden? Life seemed unfathomable without them!

"And where will _we_ live?"

"I was prepared for this to happen," Nicolas went on. "Before I left I made arrangements for a flat across the river. It's a little smaller than what you're used to, but we'll manage." His tone was jesting and light. He knew Cosette was unhappy about the new arrangements; in spite of her rough upbringing, she had quickly become used to the luxury of M. de Courfeyrac's flat.

Cosette knew there was no point in arguing. She gave Nicolas her best smile; she had had enough negativity for one day.

* * *

The new building was not elegant. It was not even nice. It had a flat, plain facade and three narrow stories. Their rooms were on the top floor, and offered a brilliant view of a cemetery from the front windows.

"It's ... quaint." Cosette was trying her hardest to make the best of things. She was back with Nicolas, she had been reunited with her brother, and the sky was the clearest shade of blue imaginable. Still, the tension from the previous evening lingered in her shoulders and back, and the long bath she had been craving was now hours away.

"I had a feeling you would say that." Nicolas smirked.

Gavroche was in awe. He had never been to a city before, and the sheer size of the buildings seemed to have induced a state of shock. "This is ours?"

"Part of it," Nicolas answered, laughing. "I'm not that rich."

One inside the dark, musty vestibule, Nicolas handed Gavroche a small brass key and motioned to a door. "That's the stairwell. Our flat is three flights up, and there's a big '3' on the door. We'll be up shortly." His eyes still wide, Gavroche nodded and left.

Cosette raised one eyebrow. "What are we doing?"

"I have something to tell you." Nicolas took her hand and led her towards the stairwell door. The stairs were dark and narrow, but there was a tall window with a heavy drape at the second floor landing. They stopped there, the floorboards creaking beneath their weight.

Cosette opened her mouth to question Nicolas again, but before she could speak he pressed his lips to hers and banished all curiosity. Her heart swelled, and she lost herself in the rush. She had missed Nicolas' face, his charm, his jokes, his company ... but she had also missed this. She delighted in his hair tickling her face, and the thrill as she was backed against the wall. She felt two soft hands brush against her skin, just above her garter. She liked where this was going.

Pulling back briefly for a breath, Cosette squeaked, "What did you want to tell me?"

Both to her displeasure and her excitement, Nicolas removed his hands, grinning. "I took a day trip while I was in Gagny," he said, breathless. "I thought you should know: I think I found out your mother's name."

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**I just made an Official Outline for the rest of the story. Oh yeah, who's being productive now? **


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